༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

It takes three days of gruelling travel through the mountains before Rosabel announces that we're close. Though the scenery hasn't changed—we're still surrounded by sheets of snow and jagged rock that claw through the white—my heart leaps.

Closer to answers. Closer to discovering who I am and where I came from. My stomach twists with the thought and I don't know whether it's from anticipation, or fear. Too much has been sacrificed on my journey for answers already, I fear any more will destroy what little of me is left. All I can hope for it the end of the line, the culmination of all this spilled blood. I won't accept anything less. I can't.

"So, how do you plan to get the witches to help you?" I ask between puffs of breath, my throat feeling like it's layered with shards of ice, making it difficult to speak.

"Things are changing in Rupteran," Rosabel answers, using a stick to help her trek along the mountainside. We're now above the clouds and the air is thin, making each breath a brittle one. "I haven't seen the witches since the emperor was assassinated and I hope it's adjusted their stance."

I gnaw on my lower lip. "I suppose you must be glad the emperor is dead."

"It's one less thing to worry about. But I'm just hoping the witches will offer us some refuge." She glances back at me. "The emperor may be dead, but this fight isn't over for my people."

My jaw clenches. She doesn't know how right she is.

We continue onward for hours in silence, passing into the shadows of Mount Krashira until we're surrounded on all sides by dark rock and crumbling snow. We follow a path down the side of the mountain and my mouth is dry as we walk into a valley, like the mountain has been hollowed out. A flowing river streams through the base of the mountain, trees and grass and animals cluster along the water's edge.

We walk down to travel alongside the river, boots sinking into soft moss instead of snow. Ahead stands tall stones etched with sygils, glowing hues of blue. Beyond the stones is more greenery, the river curving deeper into the mountain.

I gaze up where only a sliver of light from outside breaks through the tip of the mountain. No wonder it's so difficult to find this place. The witches have buried themselves inside Mount Krashira.

Rosabel looks back at me, a smile curving her lips. "You're going to love this," she says, and walks through the stones.

My eyes widen and my breath hitches as she disappears like she was never here. I race after her, her name on my lips, but then the stones swallow me too and the world shimmers around me.

I stumble to a halt, nearly crashing into the back of Rosabel. "Hell," I breathe.

A city sprawls before me, a metropolis of stone rising up towards the peak of the mountain, some nestled amongst the trees. Paths are carved into the sides of the mountains, curving around rock, climbing up and down. People walks these paths, small at this distance, simply splotches of colour against the dark rock.

"Come," Rosabel says, beckoning me forward with a wave of her hand and a sparkle in her eyes.

"I've never seen anything like it," I admit, gazing at the homes carved into the rocks, at the people that wade in the icy water of the river, and at the monstrous stone structure ahead of us that can only be a castle embedded into the side of a mountain. We walk towards that stone structure, greenery crawling along its ancient walls, claiming it as one with nature.

Up a steep and lengthy incline of stairs we walks, passing men and women who eye us closely. They aren't dressed in the rags of the refugees, they aren't stooped or carrying moons beneath their eyes. These people look strong, swathes of brightly coloured materials wrapping around them, pieces of armour shining in what sunlight trickles through the crack in the mountain above them.

These people aren't starving. They aren't broken. And they're standing by and doing nothing. It makes my skin prickle and my fingers itch, but I continue to follow Rosabel with lips pressing together and my hands limp at my sides.

We approach the palace carved into the mountain, braziers lighting up the old stone and the vines that clamber up it. Entering the stone, the air seems to simmer around us. Warmth slides across my revealed skin, chasing away the cold that I've been numbed to. I draw in a breath and find the air doesn't make my lungs ache.

A long hall stretches out before us, the ceiling uneven rock high above us, illuminated by flickering green flames. Light murmurings trickle through the space, people weaving through the wide hall to disappear into alcoves and doors. Thick columns rise either side of us, lining the hall, carved from stone, images etched into their surfaces. I hardly get a glimpse of them in passing as we continue our swift pace.

"Where are you taking me, Rosabel?" I question as we walk.

"To someone who'll be able to help you," she replies, glancing over her shoulder at me. It's then I notice the clench in her jaw, the crease between her brows, the way her fingers pinch the sleeves of her coat. She doesn't want to be here.

"Rosabel," I start, a strange concern filling me, but we're interrupted before I can ask her what's troubling her.

"Princess Rosabel," a woman draped in leathers and furs says, seeming to glide towards us, her movements like a gentle river, her voice as soft as the trickle of water.

"Eda," Rosabel greets, coming to a halt. I stop beside her, hand touching the hilt of the blade tucked into the waistband of my trousers.

"We expected you sooner," the woman says, black eyes flicking to me before glancing away.

Rosabel tilts her head, lips puckering. "Did you?

The woman before us grins. "With the death of the Emperor, we thought you'd come traipsing in here demanding our army. Take back Tacree and all that destined princess nonsense mother drawls on about."

Shoulders stiffening, Rosabel doesn't offer the woman a reply. Those violet eyes settle on Eda, settle and stay like she's skinning the woman alive with her glare alone. The woman shifts, gaze going back to me, but I just raise an eyebrow. "I'd like to see the Grand Witch, please." The please is spat through Rosabel's clenched teeth.

Eda's tongue darts along her thin lips before she nods. "She's this way, though don't expect her to be happy to see you."

Her frown deepening, Rosabel follows Eda as the woman turns on her heel, strands of tight, chestnut curls brushing the fur over her shoulders. "Why won't she be happy?"

"Mother has much on her plate, she doesn't need you adding to her worries."

I watch Rosabel as she grinds her teeth together, glaring at Eda's back. "Maybe if she decided to listen to me, then I wouldn't be such a burden."

"She's told me what you want from her," Eda tosses over her shoulder as they walk through one of the halls leading out of the vestibule, "and you'd be more of a burden if she listened. She's wise to deny you what you want."

Inclining my head, I finally speak up, "You're saying the Grand Witch is wise to deny refuge to people who are dying and starving?"

Eda stops walking and turns to me, her black eyes narrowed. "Who are you?"

"Rosabel's companion," I reply without blinking.

"Well, Rosabel's companion, us witches have thrived because of our secrecy. If we let every stray dog wander into our halls, then we wouldn't be very secret anymore." With that, she spins around and continues onward, forcing us to follow her even as the urge to slam her head into the stone wall burns within me.

I suppose to get the answers I want out of these people, I need to play nice.

Through a wide hall we walk, braziers placed on the stone floors spitting fire and light into a place that would be pitch black without them. At the end of the hall is a set of foreboding double doors, more images carved into the black wood as they were in the pillars. Trees I don't recognise twist along the doors, stretching over a great canyon, the cliff-side jagged and steep but littered with paths and what appear to be people and settlements along the rock.

"The world the witches came from," Rosabel murmurs at my side, violet eyes on the doors too. "Or so the stories go. They built this place in honour of it."

"The world that was destroyed by the gods?" I question, imagining that canyon crumbling or perhaps filling up with black tar. I don't know what powers a supposed god can wield. Frankly, I prefer to never find out. I prefer to continue believing the gods aren't real. My revenge is simpler if they're not real.

Rosabel just nods in answer.

Eda pushes through the double doors and escorts us inside. Within is a brightly lit room dwarfed by a huge stone slap cluttered with maps and books. Candles sit in pools of wax, dripping onto the scuffed stone floor.

Leaning against the slab is a woman of wild brown curls draping to her waist and a severe mouth, a crimson slash against her pale skin.

"Rosabel," the woman says, her voice as raspy as the shifting sands. She narrows violet eyes.

"Grand Witch," Rosabel replies. She doesn't bow, she doesn't incline her head, she merely utters the title and meets the woman's gaze with violet eyes of her own.

"Have you come again to beg for the refuge of your foolish people?"

Rosabel steps forward, approaching the table. "You've not changed your mind about helping us then?"

Straightening so she can look down her sharp nose at Rosabel, the Grand Witch's presence in the room seems to become almost stifling. "You haven't changed your mind about helping us? Even with what I've seen?"

"I can't give you what you want."

The witch purses her lips. "Then your people stay as they are."

I look between the two women, wondering what Rosabel could possibly have that the Grand Witch wants, and why she wouldn't give it to her if it meant to safety of her people.

Flexing my fingers, I don't follow that thought for too long as I remember my own refusal to give Palmira my power and what it cost me. What it cost the shape-shifters.

Moving those cold eyes to me, the Grand Witch glances over me from my muddy boots to the loose strands of black hair that brush my jaw. "And what have you brought into our midst?" she questions, rounding the table to peer closer at me. I've been under scrutiny enough times to not cower under it. I meet her fierce gaze and she wrinkles her nose. "She has the reek of demon blood on her."

I snort and shrug. "Soap can be hard to come by."

The Grand Witch dips her chin, a line forming between her thick brows. "What's your name?"

Glancing at Rosabel who observes the conversation, I pause before answering.

Does this woman have the answers I seek? And how much do I wish to reveal to her in order to get them?

"My name is Azura."

"I don't know the name," she replies as she takes another step closer. "But there's something... familiar about you."

As she leans towards me, those eyes of hers seemingly trying to peer into me, her scent washes over me. Like crushed rose petals and blood. It nearly makes me choke.

"I've seen you," she breathes, her voice like the hiss of a snake. "I've seen you in my dreams."

Before I can even scoff at her and tell her how odd that sounds, Rosabel is stepping between us, her back to me, her hands fisted at her sides. "Keep her out of your prophecies."

The Grand Witch's gaze never leaves me and the hair on the back of my neck stands, my instincts telling me to leave, to turn away and abandon this search for answers before I go too far and can never return.

But I already reached that point when Ari's head hit the marble.

"I can't control what I see."

"No, but you can stop trying to control people's lives with it."

Now she squints at Rosabel, a displeased twist to her lips. "When we've been gifted with power, we have a duty to use it."

Rosabel bares her teeth at the woman. "For better or for worse, right?"

"You sound just like your father and look what became of him for ignoring me."

Drawing in a sharp breath, I witness Rosabel's hackles rising as she prepares for a fight.

"Mother," Eda finally speaks, her voice cutting through the tension. "You say you know her. How?"

Focusing her attention back on me, the Grand Witch ignores Rosabel which just makes her flex her fingers. "Renata—" she starts but I curl my fingers around her wrist as I make my choice.

I've journeyed across Rupteran, fought and bled and risked running into the Empire and the Order to get here, to get my answers. Leaving without them isn't an option.

"I was told to seek out the witches," I say. "I was brought to Yetok as a baby, hidden from even my parents. I was told it was a witch who brought me there."

The witch's lips part, her eyes widen, then her hand darts forward and she's gripping my face, nails digging into my cheeks. I grit my teeth as she brings our faces closer, and she peers at me. "The second child of fire." A grin splits her lips like a wound opening. "I saw you die many, many times."

"That's reassuring," I mutter, trying to tug my face from her grip but she holds firm. My hand goes to the blade in my belt.

"The odds of you surviving..." she trails off before finally dropping her hand, her eyes alight. I rub my cheek, trying to get rid of the feeling of her cold skin against mine. "Come, there's someone you need to meet."

"What?" I question, reeling around as she strolls past us, shoving through the double doors without a backward glance. Looking to Rosabel who watches the woman leave, I search for direction. She knows these people better than I do, and judging by the fast beat of the pulse in her throat, she knows when to be wary.

Rosabel tilts her head and slides her gaze to me. "Renata will give you the answers you seek," she murmurs, clearly seeing the uncertainty on my face. "But don't forget that she's dangerous and she seeks power above all else."

Right hand curling into a fist, I heed her words. There's danger in whatever it is I am, Palmira taught me that much. It's a lesson I won't soon forget.

Renata leads us back through the stone halls, her thick cloak sweeping the floor behind her, the wild tangles of her hair streaming down the material.

Many bow to her as we pass, but I notice others who reside in the shadows with sneers curling their lips as they watch her. It makes me look closer, peer into the fear in their gazes, but also the loathing. Something simmers under the surface of the witches and I don't know if I want to go near it.

Rashida needs these people's help in the coming fight. With such hatred in their gazes, uniting them to help us fight our war may not be a possibility.

I blow out a breath, trying to remind myself that the gods may not even be real so a war with them could never come. We'll find allies, I'll behead Palmira, but first I need to discover what I am before anyone else can use my ignorance against me.

Back outside we walk, into the crisp, cold air and down those lengthy stone steps. Rosabel touches my arm as we reach the bottom of the stares and I meet her eye.

"I'll leave you now, let you find the answers you seek on your own. I hope you find what you're looking for."

I swallow the emotions that swell in my throat, scared to tell her that I hope so too, but a part of me doesn't. How much have my questions and answers cost me already?

I just offer her a stiff nod. We part ways and I follow Renata alone.

Walking through the land within the mountain, I observe the people around me. They fish in the slow moving river that cuts through the land, the rush of a waterfall trickling from the crevice in the mountain joining the chatter of witches and the bleats of animals.

The outside world doesn't matter here. There's no clank of armour from Sharlik soldiers or starving children crying for lost parents. Here it's... stagnant. And I know it's a lie. I know that beyond this hollowed mountain is a land on fire, writhing in turmoil. These people are fooling themselves into peace.

"Where are you taking me?" I ask as we walk across a bridge stretching over the river.

"You were a baby when we first met," she says. "When I brought you to Yetok."

A puff of breath clouds the air before my face as I take in her words. "That was you? You're the witch?"

Renata glances over her shoulder at me. "The prophecies showed you to me. They showed the many, many different ways you die, and the many, many different ways you destroy or save the witches." She turns away, leading me towards a crop of trees as I try not to choke on my breath. "I can't see it all, I'm not my mother, but I see bits and pieces and I nudge what I can. The odds were against you, little flame."

Little flame.

Little flame.

I wince at the guttural voice, my brother's voice, the one who saved me, who trained me, who died for me.

"How much did you nudge?" I gasp out.

"More than I should have," she replies, either ignoring or not hearing the panic in my voice. Up ahead appears a cabin, nestled amongst the trees, but I'm too caught on Renata's words to pay it much mind.

Little flame.

He betrayed the Order for me. Why would he do that for a child he didn't even know?

"Which is why until I have the certainty of power, until I have Rosabel willing to fight, we cannot take any more risks. I took far too many keeping you alive."

Those words make me bare my teeth. I fought and bled and killed and stole and whored to stay alive. Those sacrifices are mine and she won't claim them because of some fucking prophecy.

Just as I open my mouth to tell her where she can stuff her prophecy, someone exits the cabin ahead with a wave and a smile.

"Renata!" a woman calls, muscled arms littered with pale scars. "I feel as though I haven't seen you in weeks."

"You're looking well," Renata replies as she approaches the woman. I stand back, watching the two clasp hands. The stranger's skin is a shade darker than Renata's, tanned from the sun. She must venture beyond this mountain.

"I am. Eda brought me some more materials to work with and I've hardly left my workshop since." Light blue eyes dart past Renata to me, her smile never slipping, but her fingers twitch towards the hatchet hanging from her belt. "Who's this?"

"Galiana, I'd like you to meet Azura. Though I believe you've already met."

I glance between the two woman, wariness in my steps as I approach like I might a wild animal.

I've never seen this woman before. Her sandy blonde hair braided with a strip of leather wound through it is unfamiliar. As are her high cheekbones and broad jaw. She reminds me of the sun and the sea, bright hair and skin with pink lips, but in her blue eyes are shadows I don't want to peer too closely at.

That is, until Renata continues speaking.

"Azura," she says as she turns to me. "Meet your mother."