her name,” Freya said. “It was whispered, but never more than that, and anyone who knew the truth was long dead.” The ordinary people of Arroway had a lifespan of around a centu-ry. Witches and warlocks could live much longer depending on their powers. Casterix had been the most powerful witch in living memory.
If she had survived, she might still be alive today. Jarrod was. He’d matched her in power, though the magic of warlocks was different from that of witches; it required ritual and focus. A warlock was powerless without his staff. Unlike the moon magic which was wild and free and powerful enough to destroy the world. As they had discovered with Casterix.
His sister was responsible for what had happened to the witches, for the Laws of Segregation that resulted in them being nothing more than slaves to the Order, their magic taken from them. “You must have hated her,” he said.
“No. We didn’t know enough. Will you tell me what happened?” He hated to speak of it, but she deserved that much. He settled back against the trunk and thought about where to begin. “Back before the Laws of Segregation, witches and warlocks were natural mates.” He almost smiled at the expression of disbelief that flashed across her expressive eyes. “And the witches did the choosing. Cass had fallen for a young warlock called Callum, very powerful but always at odds with the Order. The Order wanted her to mate with Malachi—which was sheer madness—it was never going to happen. Cass always hated him, ever since we were children. Anyway, when she defied them, they had Callum murdered.”
The old familiar guilt washed through him. He should have stopped it. But the Order had kept the information from him—they must have known he wouldn’t have tolerated Callum’s murder, and though still young, even then he’d been a match for any warlock within the Order.
“Cass was wild with grief and fury. I believe she lost her sanity for a while, swore she would kill them all, and nearly succeeded. She tried to bring him back from death, and spoke the Word of Power that would have destroyed the whole world. Only the combined forces of The Order and the Goddess could reverse the effects.”
“What happened to your sister?”
“She vanished.” He might have been able to find her if he’d gone looking straight away, but he’d been in no position. At that point, he’d been imprisoned in the dungeons beneath the Keep, insane with rage and grief. He’d always had an empathic bond with his twin, and he’d lived through her despair.
He’d remained in that dungeon for nearly five hundred years. He was sure they considered his death on more than one occasion, but something held them back. By the time he was released, Malachi was head of the Order. Maybe it was the memory of their friendship, or the fact that the Order wanted more warlocks of his line. He didn’t know why they had released him, but he knew they no longer trusted him.
“As soon as I was able, I went hunting for her. I knew deep down that Casterix wasn’t dead. I would have sensed her loss. I wandered the world searching for any sign, any talk that would hint she had been there. I found nothing, and occasionally I would come back to see if the Order had any news. I never stayed long—I couldn’t bear what they had become.”
“You didn’t try and change things?”
He could hear the censure in her voice. “I blamed myself. I should have stopped them killing Callum, and then I should have prevented Casterix from her revenge. Because I didn’t, the world nearly ended and my sister was lost. I didn’t think I had the right to change anything, to have any say in how the Order was run. Besides, I kept to myself and didn’t see what was going on, how bad things had become. I’d come, find they had heard nothing, and be gone again. Until one day—” He broke off as he realized what he’d been about to say.
“One day?”
One day, he’d ridden into the
If she had survived, she might still be alive today. Jarrod was. He’d matched her in power, though the magic of warlocks was different from that of witches; it required ritual and focus. A warlock was powerless without his staff. Unlike the moon magic which was wild and free and powerful enough to destroy the world. As they had discovered with Casterix.
His sister was responsible for what had happened to the witches, for the Laws of Segregation that resulted in them being nothing more than slaves to the Order, their magic taken from them. “You must have hated her,” he said.
“No. We didn’t know enough. Will you tell me what happened?” He hated to speak of it, but she deserved that much. He settled back against the trunk and thought about where to begin. “Back before the Laws of Segregation, witches and warlocks were natural mates.” He almost smiled at the expression of disbelief that flashed across her expressive eyes. “And the witches did the choosing. Cass had fallen for a young warlock called Callum, very powerful but always at odds with the Order. The Order wanted her to mate with Malachi—which was sheer madness—it was never going to happen. Cass always hated him, ever since we were children. Anyway, when she defied them, they had Callum murdered.”
The old familiar guilt washed through him. He should have stopped it. But the Order had kept the information from him—they must have known he wouldn’t have tolerated Callum’s murder, and though still young, even then he’d been a match for any warlock within the Order.
“Cass was wild with grief and fury. I believe she lost her sanity for a while, swore she would kill them all, and nearly succeeded. She tried to bring him back from death, and spoke the Word of Power that would have destroyed the whole world. Only the combined forces of The Order and the Goddess could reverse the effects.”
“What happened to your sister?”
“She vanished.” He might have been able to find her if he’d gone looking straight away, but he’d been in no position. At that point, he’d been imprisoned in the dungeons beneath the Keep, insane with rage and grief. He’d always had an empathic bond with his twin, and he’d lived through her despair.
He’d remained in that dungeon for nearly five hundred years. He was sure they considered his death on more than one occasion, but something held them back. By the time he was released, Malachi was head of the Order. Maybe it was the memory of their friendship, or the fact that the Order wanted more warlocks of his line. He didn’t know why they had released him, but he knew they no longer trusted him.
“As soon as I was able, I went hunting for her. I knew deep down that Casterix wasn’t dead. I would have sensed her loss. I wandered the world searching for any sign, any talk that would hint she had been there. I found nothing, and occasionally I would come back to see if the Order had any news. I never stayed long—I couldn’t bear what they had become.”
“You didn’t try and change things?”
He could hear the censure in her voice. “I blamed myself. I should have stopped them killing Callum, and then I should have prevented Casterix from her revenge. Because I didn’t, the world nearly ended and my sister was lost. I didn’t think I had the right to change anything, to have any say in how the Order was run. Besides, I kept to myself and didn’t see what was going on, how bad things had become. I’d come, find they had heard nothing, and be gone again. Until one day—” He broke off as he realized what he’d been about to say.
“One day?”
One day, he’d ridden into the
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