Read Online Terms of Surrender by Craig Schaefer - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Craig Schaefer
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sister by blood. Anyone who denies this truth will earn my wrath.”
“I am Worm,” her brother said, swirled bone mask fixed upon his face, “and I declare the same.”
Bear glared daggers at them, but he didn’t say a word. Not when others were stepping forward around him, adding their declarations, calling Mari
sister
, and
cousin
, and
niece
.
A single tear rolled down Mari’s cheek. Her lips curled in a trembling smile.
“Welcome,” Nessa whispered. “Welcome to my family. And to my service, Lady Knight.”
* * *
The assembly dispersed across the glade, the witches gathered in small knots of hushed conversation. Mari followed close at Nessa’s shoulder.
“The real sabbat hasn’t started yet,” Nessa explained. “We wait for high midnight, for that. I think you’ll enjoy it.”
“Don’t worry if you don’t know how to dance,” said a towering man in a bull mask, walking up to greet them. He took off his mask and gave Mari a big smile. “I don’t either, nobody cares. I’m Giorgio, by the way.”
“Mari,” she said with a slight bow.
Nessa tapped her finger against his chest. “And have you taken time to reconsider my offer?”
He gave her a pained look, then shot a furtive glance toward the stony tomb at the far edge of the glade.
“Nessa, c’mon, I
can’t
.”
“Fortune favors the brave.”
“We shouldn’t even—” He looked to the tomb once more and pitched his voice low. “We shouldn’t even be
talking
about this here.”
“As you wish,” Nessa said. Her gaze drifted across the clearing. Then her eyes narrowed to slits.
The party had a late arrival. A lean, silver-haired man in formal dress strode across the grass with purpose, headed straight for the open mouth of the tomb. He carried a book tucked under one stiff arm.
“Mari, listen carefully.” Nessa shot glances in all directions. “I need to go talk to Moth. Walk over there, discreetly, and get Worm and Shrike. Say the word
floodland
and return to me at once. They’ll understand.”
“But what’s—”
“No questions.
Go
.” She looked to Giorgio. “I was going to give you more time to choose your side, Bull. All I can offer you is two minutes. Use it wisely.”
Mari scurried across the clearing as stealthily as she could manage, nervous energy pushing her like a strong wind. All the joy she felt turned into cold iron in her veins when she approached Despina and Vassili.
“Sister,” Despina purred, reaching for her arm. “We were just—”
“Floodland,” she whispered.
Despina put on her mask.
She and her brother shared a hard-eyed nod. No words, just understanding. Mari turned and rejoined Nessa, who was deep in furtive conversation at the back of the clearing with an elderly moth-masked woman and a stout man wearing an ant’s guise. Nessa cradled her own mask in one hand, like a weapon ready to be drawn. Mari hovered silently, ears and eyes perked, heart beating faster as she recognized the familiar sensation that had taken over her body.
On instinct, she was preparing for battle.
“Attention,” cried the voice of a born showman. “May I have your kind attention, please?”
The man with the silver hair had a mask now, too. A fox. As the coven gathered, all eyes on him, he held the book high in the air.
“Does this look familiar to anyone?” Fox asked. “A rhetorical question, of course. Only one woman here should know it on sight. It was the journal of our dear, fallen daughter, Squirrel. The apprentice of—and
responsibility
of—our beloved Owl.”
Nessa pursed her lips, squaring her footing. Mari moved to stand at her right shoulder and rested her hands on the grips of her fighting batons.
“And yet,” Fox said, “I found this book in the most interesting place. Can any of you guess? No? Well, I’ll tell you: in the private chambers of Pope Livia Serafini. The sacred writings of this coven—our mysteries, our
secrets
—have been in the hands of the
“I am Worm,” her brother said, swirled bone mask fixed upon his face, “and I declare the same.”
Bear glared daggers at them, but he didn’t say a word. Not when others were stepping forward around him, adding their declarations, calling Mari
sister
, and
cousin
, and
niece
.
A single tear rolled down Mari’s cheek. Her lips curled in a trembling smile.
“Welcome,” Nessa whispered. “Welcome to my family. And to my service, Lady Knight.”
* * *
The assembly dispersed across the glade, the witches gathered in small knots of hushed conversation. Mari followed close at Nessa’s shoulder.
“The real sabbat hasn’t started yet,” Nessa explained. “We wait for high midnight, for that. I think you’ll enjoy it.”
“Don’t worry if you don’t know how to dance,” said a towering man in a bull mask, walking up to greet them. He took off his mask and gave Mari a big smile. “I don’t either, nobody cares. I’m Giorgio, by the way.”
“Mari,” she said with a slight bow.
Nessa tapped her finger against his chest. “And have you taken time to reconsider my offer?”
He gave her a pained look, then shot a furtive glance toward the stony tomb at the far edge of the glade.
“Nessa, c’mon, I
can’t
.”
“Fortune favors the brave.”
“We shouldn’t even—” He looked to the tomb once more and pitched his voice low. “We shouldn’t even be
talking
about this here.”
“As you wish,” Nessa said. Her gaze drifted across the clearing. Then her eyes narrowed to slits.
The party had a late arrival. A lean, silver-haired man in formal dress strode across the grass with purpose, headed straight for the open mouth of the tomb. He carried a book tucked under one stiff arm.
“Mari, listen carefully.” Nessa shot glances in all directions. “I need to go talk to Moth. Walk over there, discreetly, and get Worm and Shrike. Say the word
floodland
and return to me at once. They’ll understand.”
“But what’s—”
“No questions.
Go
.” She looked to Giorgio. “I was going to give you more time to choose your side, Bull. All I can offer you is two minutes. Use it wisely.”
Mari scurried across the clearing as stealthily as she could manage, nervous energy pushing her like a strong wind. All the joy she felt turned into cold iron in her veins when she approached Despina and Vassili.
“Sister,” Despina purred, reaching for her arm. “We were just—”
“Floodland,” she whispered.
Despina put on her mask.
She and her brother shared a hard-eyed nod. No words, just understanding. Mari turned and rejoined Nessa, who was deep in furtive conversation at the back of the clearing with an elderly moth-masked woman and a stout man wearing an ant’s guise. Nessa cradled her own mask in one hand, like a weapon ready to be drawn. Mari hovered silently, ears and eyes perked, heart beating faster as she recognized the familiar sensation that had taken over her body.
On instinct, she was preparing for battle.
“Attention,” cried the voice of a born showman. “May I have your kind attention, please?”
The man with the silver hair had a mask now, too. A fox. As the coven gathered, all eyes on him, he held the book high in the air.
“Does this look familiar to anyone?” Fox asked. “A rhetorical question, of course. Only one woman here should know it on sight. It was the journal of our dear, fallen daughter, Squirrel. The apprentice of—and
responsibility
of—our beloved Owl.”
Nessa pursed her lips, squaring her footing. Mari moved to stand at her right shoulder and rested her hands on the grips of her fighting batons.
“And yet,” Fox said, “I found this book in the most interesting place. Can any of you guess? No? Well, I’ll tell you: in the private chambers of Pope Livia Serafini. The sacred writings of this coven—our mysteries, our
secrets
—have been in the hands of the
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