The moist grass brushed Erador’s pants below the knee. Clouds blanketed the stars and moons, shadowing the field. Aminria’s lantern lit the way, but they didn’t need it. Hawth seemed to have internalized the direction to New Akthelia without changing their route; he could probably find it blindfolded.

  A circular stone structure jutted from the grass. They hadn’t run into civilization since they left hours ago. Erador expected to walk past the well, but Hawth pushed the wooden cover off and sat on the stone, dangling his legs in the hole.

  Erador adjusted his jacket as he looked into the well. A metal ladder was bolted to the side and disappeared into the dark abyss.

  “This is the way?” Erador said.

  Hawth moved down, giving his answer without a response. Erador swung over the edge and grabbed the bars.

  “Are you sure it’s safe?” Aminria asked, holding the lantern over the well. The glow only stretched so far before darkness swallowed it. She shook the ladder but it was stiff. “Is there another way?”

  “No.” Hawth’s voice echoed through the well. “Unless you want to take your chances with the guards.”

  Erador took the lantern from Aminria and hooked it on his arm. Her face paled and she paced through the grass, hand tangled in her hair. She mumbled and tied it back.

  “What’s wrong?” Erador asked.

  “I... don’t like wells. They’re dark and damp.”

  “Then you would hate going into the Shadow Realm.”

  Aminria shot him a glare. “The Well Lurker is different.”

  Erador’s building laughter succumbed to the word that had turned his life upside down. Even Shade was scared. “Lurker?”

  “Yes, it comes at night and stalks you for several days. When you see it, it becomes an illusion of something you desire. At least lurkers make it known you should run.”

  “At least you get to see something pleasant before your death.” Erador leaned his elbow on the well and placed his chin in his hand. “Did you see one?”

  She ran her hand across the stone. “It’s... a story.”

  “A story?” Erador gave a crooked grin. “That’s why you’re scared to come down here?”

  “It’s more than that.” Aminria adjusted her belt, careful to avoid the barbs on the end of her wire. It was wound around like a whip and sparkled with orbid. He tried not to imagine what she would use that for after mentioning torture.

  “My brother dared me to go into an abandoned well. He said I wasn’t brave enough, so I tried to prove him wrong and...” She shivered. “I thought I saw something.”

  “But it was nothing?”

  “I don’t know. I was twelve. I thought he was trying to scare me but…. I swore I saw this furry person with big ears and claws.”

  “A furry person? That’s sounds reasonable,” Erador joked. “Your brother and I could get along.”

  She swatted at his head and he ducked.

  “So, now you’re not willing to go?”

  “I never said that.” Aminria gnawed her finger. “A little coaxing might help.”

  “Oh...” Grinning, Erador reached out and hesitated before touching her hand. “If it makes you feel any better... I need you.”

  Aminria bit her tongue, smiling. “I know.”

  She climbed over the side and Erador moved down. Smoke drifted from the bottom and mixed with the moist air. Hawth savored the last of his leef he could barely hold before, throwing it down and digging his boot into it. Erador dropped beside him.

  Hawth chuckled. “Didn’t think someone like you would be scared of monsters.”

  “I wouldn’t go there,” Erador warned.

  Aminria dropped off the ladder and clenched her hands, knuckles white. The bottom bar creaked as it twisted and bent. She gritted her teeth and leaned toward Hawth. “If you tell anyone, this will be your neck.”

  Erador whistled. Hawth swallowed, regret on his face.

  Aminria took the lantern. She gestured toward the tunnel opening and said cheerfully, “Shall we.”

  Hawth darted through first. Aminria cut in front of Erador.

  “Don’t want to be last,” she said. “Plus, you get a nice view of my backside.”

  “Great,” Erador rolled his eyes. “It’s my last desire before I get eaten by the well lurker.”

  “You wouldn’t take this lightly if you saw the illustration.”

  “I doubt it's scarier than the lurkers in the Shadow Realm.”

  “Now’s not a good time,” Aminria said, in a high pitch. “How long is this tunnel?”

  Hawth looked over his shoulder. “An hour.”

  “You must be desperate for that keid.”

  “Determined,” Hawth said, proudly.

  Aminria scoffed. “Trying to make yourself feel better?”

  Hawth let out an annoyed sigh. “Can we stop talking?”

  “As much as you deserve it, it’s best considering we’ll be in forbidden territory,” Erador said.

  They traveled into a narrow dirt tunnel supported by wood arches. Humidity weighed down the earthy air. Erador’s breathing increased. He wasn’t sure if it was the lack of air or because they were closer to New Akthelia that made it harder. Shade wasn’t helping. He kept nagging him to turn around, until Erador mentally told him to stop. An hour later, the tunnel ended at a set of stone steps, leading up to a wooden hatch.

  Hawth knocked on the hatch with a quick rhythm. It creaked open. A man with an eye patch looked them over before greeting them.

  “Got your payment?”

  Hawth handed him a pouch and the man checked the contents. He nodded once and moved aside. Erador entered the cellar last. Questions of where Hawth got the money faded as the smell of liquor seeped into his nose. Stacked barrels and crates were cramped in the cellar.

  The eye patch man pushed aside a piece of wood between the crates and pointed at a crawl space behind it. “In here.”

  Aminria bent down and held the lantern out. “Where does this go?”

  The man narrowed his eye.

  Hawth leaned toward her. “I told you not to ask questions.”

  He crawled through the hole and Aminria moved in. The man stopped her, gesturing for the lantern.

  “You can’t take that,” he said. “Draws attention.”

  Aminria rolled her eyes and left the lantern with him. Her slim figure fit through the hole with ease. Erador followed. The space was tight around his shoulders. He hunched them inward and pulled himself on his hands and knees. Footsteps pounded above him, and a fit of laughter erupted. Erador stopped, digging his nails into the rough brick, and he forced away his invasive imagination that the people were searching for him. He wished he could blame his fears on Shade, but there was no light to cast him.

  The cool air brushed through the opening. Aminria and Hawth’s boots were ahead. Erador squeezed out of the crawlspace and brushed off his hands as he rose. Smoke escaped the chimneys of buildings placed too tightly for his own comfort. Erador flipped on his hood as Hawth put the grate over the hole.

  “This is it?” Aminria said, letting her hair down. She shook dirt from her curls.

  “You look suspicious.” Hawth ripped Erador’s hood down. “Act natural.”

  Hawth moved out of the alley. Erador followed on the stone road, surprised he kept a steady footing and he didn't step in a hole or trip on lifted stone. A glimpse at a building without chipped paint and a well-kept roof earned him regret. He dismissed it. It didn’t mean New Akthelia was better, but the aroma of cooked food and spices was more than inviting. His mouth drooled for a taste. He wouldn’t let it fool him into thinking he was safe, and he had any opportunity to leave his damned life and end the aching hunger.

  Erador glanced over his shoulder. “Where are we going?”

  “A witch shop,” Hawth said. “It’s the best place to start.”

  Erador kept his head down as a few people passed, the smells of alcohol and sweet perfumes left in their wake. Their chatty laughter chilled his spine, but his depression over the cheerful voices he wished to hear from the followers in Lucrethia, dissipated as the rainbow-colored sign cut through the darkness. The glowing crystals spelled out the name Crystal Sanctuary.

  “Colored lights.” Erador stopped. “Well, if that isn’t a sight to see.”

  Lucrethia was only allowed to have lumin which were white and didn’t hold power. The witch book stated that there were varying colors of magic crystals.

  Erador stepped inside after Aminria. The shop was fitting for its name; similar glowing crystals were strung on the ceiling, adding warmth and colorful auras to the shop’s goods. The spaced tables displayed books, dull crystals in varying colors, stones, and attire; nothing he would be interested in otherwise, except these were forbidden to his eyes like he was looking at Lord Judgment’s face without permission—a stupid rule he demanded when he was well.

  Erador's mouth practically drooled when he passed a shelf of books, but the crystal in his jacket pocket pulled him like a magnet to the counter.

  The clerk rested her hands on the glass. Her black hair was pushed back with a headband as colorful as the shop and her curls flowed over her exposed dark shoulders.

  More goods were encased underneath and behind the counter to attract potential buyers. The bright colors were refreshing compared to the dark manor, not what Erador expected of witches after what his father told him as a child. Medina fit his description. It was meant to deter him from being interested in anything other than that cult.

  “How can I help you?” The clerk’s greeting was warm, but scrutiny in her eyes was like she’d caught him where he didn’t belong.

  Erador pulled out the gray crystal and set it on the counter. “Can you tell me who made this?

  The clerk picked it up and her bell sleeve draped on the glass. Her nose wrinkled as she moved the crystal to her face. “It’s a teleportation crystal, rather large for one. This can’t be a return?”

  “No. You don’t make ones like this, do you?” Erador said.

  “Ours are the size of a hare’s paw. More portable. I don’t know any witches who would use such a...” she smirked. “Cumbersome crystal.”

  “Could it be from a novice witch?”

  “Larger sizes are used to hold more magic but they are rarely used by every day witches.” The shop owner turned the crystal, studying the scratches. “Looks like this crystal doesn’t have an etch, so it’s unlikely you’d be able to source where it’s from.”

  Erador took the crystal from her and studied the scratches.

  “Told you it’s not his,” Hawth said from beside a table.

  “I wouldn’t speak too soon.” Aminria moved away from a display of crystal jewelry on the counter. “Maybe it doesn’t have one, so it couldn’t be tracked.”

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  Erador turned, lowering his voice. “Do you think it’s someone who hates my father? Who wants to benefit from Him?”

  “Benefit... hm...” Aminria stroked her chin, looking at Hawth. “I don’t think it’s Hawth’s father.”

  Erador leaned closer. “Why not?”

  “What do you think he would gain?”

  “I don’t know.” Erador shrugged. “They could have become... friends.”

  “Oh sure...” She rolled her eyes. “Hawth would rather...”

  Glass shattered, scattering across the ground and hitting Erador’s boots. Hawth cringed, hands positioned as if he held something, but below him were remnants of a glass ball; the same ones on the table next to him. He uttered an apology but from the clerk’s aggressive sigh, she wasn’t the least forgiving.

  The clerk ripped a broom from the corner and marched to Hawth. “Sweep the mess.”

  “Me?” Hawth said. “I don’t work here.”

  She moved it closer. “Consider it partial payment.”

  “I don’t have money.”

  The clerk looked him over, her gaze found his fang earring. “What about that?”

  Hawth touched it lightly, and turned his head away. “Not a chance.”

  “The sunflower one then?”

  “It was an accident, all right.” Hawth gritted his teeth and looked at the mess. “I can replace it later. I know someone who has one like it.”

  The clerk crossed her arms. “And I’m supposed to believe you’ll come back.”

  Hawth looked at Aminria and Erador for help. Erador slipped his hand in his pocket, clenching the cold metal anchor to subdue his aversions for Hawth’s actions. Erador wouldn’t normally care, but it wasn't about Hawth. If this clerk complained, the king might find out they were here. Lucrethia didn’t need another problem.

  Erador pulled out the anchor. “What about this?”

  The clerk’s hard demeanor softened once her eyes laid on the anchor. She released the broom. Hawth fumbled for it and caught it. She took the heavy metal from him and slid her fingers delicately over the crest of another anchor chiseled on the back.

  “Where did you get this?” she breathed.

  “A friend.” Erador rolled the words off his tongue carefully, to sound authentic, but from the clerk’s suspicious eye, he knew he had slipped.

  “Did you steal it?”

  “No... It was a gift more or less.”

  “A gift? I can’t believe someone would give you an authentic Tri-Anchor as a gift. This is worth more than what he broke,” she said, nodding in Hawth’s direction.

  “Why is that?” Erador asked.

  The clerk moved to the counter and set it down. “It’s from the Coven of Rebirth.”

  Erador looked at Aminria who shifted but seemed as confused as him. “What does it have to do with witches?”

  Erador held his breath for the clerk’s reaction, but she was elated as if she’d been waiting for someone to ask her entire life.

  “It’s the foundation of our beliefs. Witches began practicing magic at sea because it was illegal on land.” She pulled a silver anchor necklace from under her blouse, cradling it as if it were her own creation. “It represents the three gods of death.”

  The gods of death—evil deities. Loma’s words, but Erador never knew their names or saw their statues on her shelves. He couldn't speak of them unless he was willing to face bad omens.

  “Who are these gods of death?” Erador asked.

  The clerk pointed at the engraved eye on top of the anchor. “Judgment...”

  Erador held his breath as her finger moved to the whip symbol on the right.

  “Retribution and...”

  Heat scorched his cheeks the moment Judgment left her lips. It’s like she had seen through him. But Erador let her continue to the last engraving of spread wings; the word already echoing in his head.

  “Absolution,” Erador said before she could open her mouth.

  She smiled. “You know.”

  He scratched his head. “Kind of forgot about it.” His heart jumped. “These are Senith gods?”

  The clerk blinked at him and looked at Hawth and Aminria who were as stiff as him. “Where did you come from? A cult?”

  Erador held in a swallow and reached for the fabric of his jacket covering his right arm. He checked Aminria's sleeve and wanted to choke himself for panicking when it was down.

  He rubbed the sweat surfacing on his forehead. “I never knew much about witches.”

  “Well... these are Senith gods.” The clerk grabbed her hip. “You seem to know that at least."

  Erador cleared his throat and gave a nod, recalling Loma’s prayers to the other gods. “Sort of. They’re taboo... maybe bad luck.”

  “To some believers, yes. Absolution not so much.”

  His father spewed religious garbage, but the roles he and Taurin played must’ve been similar to the Senith gods. “Retribution places punishment on sinners, and if they don’t admit their sins they’re...”

  Killed. Erador recalled his father’s methods of followers who became infidels, but maybe the Senith and witches’ beliefs weren't like that. Maybe they had more chances. Maybe they could be saved, eventually.

  “They face Judgment again and cycle through the process until they admit their sins and they’re absolved by Absolution,” Aminria finished.

  “You do know!” The Clerk said with a convincing smirk that relieved the pressure in Erador’s chest. “Well... witches don’t see it that way like the Senith worshipers. We believe these gods help us recognize our sins and give us a chance to forgive ourselves. Death is a natural process. We all face Judgment.”

  A younger version of Erador’s father flashed in his mind as people lined out the throne room’s door to be judged by him. But Erador had no idea his corrupt practices were from another religion. The witches’ views were more favorable. It made more sense than his father's methods. People made mistakes and sometimes they made them more than once before they learned. Judgment allowed that chance to his favorites like Gillian; despite her actions costing lives. Maybe some people never changed, but Erador tried not to think about that.

  “Where is this coven?” Erador asked.

  “It’s inaccessible to visitors, even the places of worship are only for sanctified witches.”

  “Are you one?”

  “No.” The word left the clerk’s lips in disappointment. “If you’re interested, I have a guide on the Coven of Rebirth. It won’t cost anything.”

  “I’ll take it.”

  Erador leaned toward Aminria, aggressively rubbing the hair above his lips as the clerk shuffled through books behind the counter. “Why didn’t you tell me my father was playing god?”

  “You knew that,” Aminria whispered.

  “I meant a stolen one. You’re from Elsgrith. You know about the Senith religion more than I do. Don’t play stupid.”

  Aminria shrugged. “We weren’t allowed to say anything.”

  “Of course. More fucking secrets.” Erador pointed at the shattered glass on the ground and Hawth complied, moving the broom with a groan. The glass jars of crystal paint in the display case coaxed Erador back to the counter. There were several colors, but red was all he cared about.

  “I can pay you the remaining cost of the anchor,” the clerk said, setting a pamphlet on the counter.

  “How about a partial payment?” Erador pointed above the case. “I want this red paint.”

  The clerk pulled out the paint, and handed him the money. The silver coins felt foreign and he had no idea how much anything actually cost. Lucrethia didn’t have currency. Money was only used to buy supplies outside their village. He slipped the coins in his jacket along with the paint, pamphlet, and teleportation crystal.

  Erador looked the clerk over. “Do you know anything about a green flame inside of a crystal?”

  “A flame in a crystal?” The clerk’s eyebrow raised. “I have no clue.”

  Maybe it had nothing to do with a witch’s rank. He was afraid of that.

  “Do you know anyone who might know more?”

  “Your best chance is to look outside New Akthelia, but you can start at the old bookshop down the street. They might have some information.”

  Back on the street Erador kept his sights ahead. Hawth cast him suspicious glances. Erador pressed his tongue against his front teeth, anticipation rising in his tense steps.

  “Where did you get that anchor?” Hawth asked.

  “Where did you get that money?” Erador snapped.

  Hawth didn’t say another word. He knew the meaning behind the anchors like Aminria knew about the Senith Religion. They knew his father stole from both witches and Seniths and no one bothered to tell him. Aminria’s excuse seemed valid—of course his father wouldn’t want to give anyone a reason to leave his cult. It could have jeopardized her life, after all she was already a wanted princess, but it was yet another lie from Hawth. He could leave because he had no mark.

  In the square, white crystal lights hanging above a fountain lit a bronze statue of a woman. Water trickled into the bottom from a vase she held at her round belly. The carved plaque below her feet read: ‘In memory of Lady Sibea Lorien.’

  The splashing sounds rang in Erador’s ears like the rain drops on the night he learned the New Akthelian queen was murdered. The flashbacks crushed him into pieces again and reminded him of his doomed life. The Paradins and followers left one after the other, and his father’s health degraded rapidly; both took a toll on everyone’s spirits.

  The queen’s statue had delicate features; she was probably chosen by the king for her beauty. Her demeanor was a peaceful depiction, far from what he envisioned her to look like in her death. Learning the queen’s features twisted the anguish harder into his belly like a shard of glass, but instead of bleeding the relief, he was drowning in it. Unable to change it, to fix anything, or save his father and restore Lucrethia.

  “Oh my....” Aminria touched her quivering lips. Her soft, shaky voice lurched the blood into Erador’s throat. “Is that really her?”

  “I heard they never found her body,” Hawth said.

  “What was she doing near Lucrethia?” Aminria said. “She was about to birth a child.”

  “Who knows? Not even Fedra claims to and she was her maid.” Erador turned away from the statue. “It’s not like it matters now.”

  Gillian should have her own shredded banner in Lucrethia, reminding them of what not to do like the Raven.

  Footsteps echoed off the buildings in the empty square. A woman moved into the light with books stacked to her chin. A floral dress swayed at her calves. The pouring water from the fountain was a distant splash like a faraway waterfall as Erador focused on her tacky green shawl.

  Emera’s name left Erador's lips as a whisper and froze her on the spot. She tried to raise the books higher to cover her face, but her arms wobbled under the weight. Her lips quivered as she took a step back. Emera’s fear was worse than when she complained about the diseased harvest as if she committed murder in front of him. It was practically already true. Traitor. Erador’s jaw stiffened as the cold black inked across his eyes.

  Shade swept toward her feet. Screaming, Emera dropped the books. They sucked through the dark shape and disappeared. She ran.

  Erador wasted no breath. “Stop her!”

  He tailed Emera down the street. She sprinted in and out of shadows. Shade was useless with too much darkness, but he doubted she had much endurance. Emera blasted water over her shoulder and moisture swept by Erador’s head. Heart lurching, he dodged another streak, and banged his shoulder into a railing. He pushed through the sting and was firm on his feet again. Aminria charged past him, catching up to Emera as she turned a corner.

  “Use your wire!” Erador called, between a breath.

  Aminria reached for the wire on her belt and cracked it like a whip. The long metal flung forward. With a twist of her arm, the metal hooked around Emera’s ankles and snapped stiff. Aminria yanked back. Emera slammed onto the ground. She screamed and tugged at her leg but the metal dug deeper and drew blood.

  Erador ignored Emera's pleas and reached for her. His stomach lurched as he dodged a blast of water. The edge sliced his ear. Winching, he touched the throbbing spot. He looked past the blood coating his fingertips at Emera’s slick smile. She had been wishing to harm him probably after every bad encounter they had. Her hand was up, ready to strike again despite the fury in his eyes and how Shade slipped across the stone road. No matter how highly she carried herself, her lips trembled at the corners ready to break if he so much as breathed. Erador lapped up her fear like he had licked the blood of freshly killed prey.

  The hunger to kill flashed in her eyes as she tensed her fingers. A weak stream of water guzzled in her palm and slipped to the ground. Erador choked back a laugh at her pitiful attempt. Again she tried, but her hand was dry as the skin on her legs.

  Her panicked breaths exited as whimpers. Emera tugged on the barbs buried in her leg, but they wouldn’t budge. She stopped, tracing the metal that sparkled with orbid. Her shoulders collapsed with the slip of a sob. Smirking, Erador wiped the blood on his pants. He wasn’t going to let her defeat seep pity into him. She would’ve done the same to him.

  He snatched her swatting arms and concealed her mouth. He dragged her into the nearest alley as Aminria led the wire. Emera’s heels pounded against the ground and her screams were muffled behind Erador’s hand.

  Hawth walked in casually as if he’d stumbled upon the scene. Not a single tear of sweat clung to his skin nor did he pant. Erador didn't have time to bother with him.

  “What is she doing here?” Aminria whispered.

  Erador hoped to find an answer on Emera’s face, and it was there—the fear of being caught. “She moved here. The king must have accepted her.”

  “Shit!” Aminria palmed her forehead. “What are we going to do?”

  “If I let her go, she’ll tell them we’re here.”

  “Then take her,” Hawth said, frantically looking around. “We can’t stay here, someone might’ve seen us.”

  “Or...” Aminria dragged a finger across her throat.

  Emera’s terrified eyes shifted between them as tears streamed down her cheeks. Whimpers erupted behind Erador’s hand.

  “I’m not doing that. She might have information. She must have had a chat with the king.” Erador leaned toward Emera. “Didn’t you, traitor?” He spit anger into her ear, but it wouldn’t change anything. He hoped she would choke on her tongue that was used to tell her filthy lies. “It’s the only way a Lucrethian could’ve been welcome here.”

  “What if she snuck in like us?” Aminria said.

  “I doubt that. She could’ve told the king something to give her a permanent ticket into New Akthelia.”

  Hawth tugged on his hair. “Make up your mind. I don’t want to be caught.”

  “Take her.” Aminria touched the wire. The metal broke, the rest remained stabbed into Emera’s ankles. Aminria wound the extra wire around and hooked it on her belt.

  “Use this.” Hawth took out a handkerchief and handed it to Erador. He didn’t have reason to complain at his repulsion. He was already covered in sweat and blood and not just his own.

  He stuffed the cloth in Emera’s mouth and tied it behind her head. A shadow stretched in the alley’s opening as footsteps echoed off the walls.

  “Someone’s coming.” Hawth urged Aminria forward.

  Erador lifted Emera and kept her arms restrained behind her as he pushed her down the alley away from the approaching shadow.

  “What about the bookstore?” Aminria asked.

  “We’ll have to come back later.”

  It was the last thing he wanted to do, but he had no choice. If they were captured, who would stop Yuni?

  “And how do we explain this to that man?” Aminria said.

  “We don’t,” Hawth said. “Pay him that money and he’ll look the other way.”

  Erador didn’t want to think of what that man let people get away with, not when he would be doing the same.

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