Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 48193 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 241(@200wpm)___ 193(@250wpm)___ 161(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48193 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 241(@200wpm)___ 193(@250wpm)___ 161(@300wpm)
I’m steps away from finding out if these rumors are true. If they are, I may be steps away from my own death.
I shake out my shoulders and head for the house. More eager than I’ve ever been, my wolf pushes me forward, ever restless and on the prowl.
IDALIS
All I could find in the grimoire was that a storm of this magnitude comes when a soul attempts to evade fate. The knowledge clings to me and yet I cannot make sense of it. Surely, there must be something else. Or someone else who has brought this on.
Secure in my cottage, I close my eyes and listen to the sound of the rain. It’s a meditation of sorts. It calms my frayed nerves and gives me a sense of control. At first, I try to pick out individual drops on the roof, then think about the pattern of the downpour, then concentrate instead on the inside of the cottage. I whisper for it to tell me its secrets. I’m only met with the pounding of the rain and its anger. So I wait, listening and waiting and contemplating if I may have missed something. There must be something…or someone that I have yet to discover.
My cottage is clean and warm and snug. I’m safe inside, and even safer because of the storm.
I am safe.
I breathe in deeply and out even slower, concentrating on the safety I’ve built instead of the loneliness of it. If my coven still existed, we’d be settled in for the storm by now. The rain is still much too loud for any real conversation, but there are other ways to communicate. We could have written notes, or sat next to each other and worked on spells, or sewed, or cooked. My elder sister would have harnessed the anger of the storm by collecting its water and at that thought, I nearly run for a jar to set it outside but I hesitate. Something inside of me screams not to open the door. My intuition makes me pause.
For a while, I lose myself in memories. I can’t remember another storm as strong and sudden as this one, but it’s not as if the weather was always sunny and mild. There was the snowstorm that kept us inside for a week straight, with bitter winds and drifts coming halfway up the door. There was the spring freeze that turned the air so cold it hurt to breathe. It was years and years ago. But I remember how I felt…at peace.
We’d all danced in a circle in the field, the wind in our hair, until the moons came up. Grateful for the change and the cycles.
Oh—I have so many happy memories. They all reassure the same: the storm will be over soon. In this world nothing lasts but everything moves on.
I tell myself that time passes slowly because I’m waiting for it to pass. I keep listening for the rain to let up.
The rain on the roof doesn’t soften. It doesn’t get quieter. I open my eyes and stare up at the ceiling. It’s hard to see with so little light. The only real brightness comes from flashes of lightning. Black clouds at this time of the afternoon just can’t last. It is past midday now, though I can’t tell exactly how long it’s been. With a snap, I light the candles along the windowsill, and ten or so tea lights brighten the space. The flames are small but dignified and useful.
I pass time with a meal of seasoned bread and soft cheeses and delicious jams, then I pay a lot of attention to the steps of brewing a fresh pot of tea. It’s chamomile, to calm my nerves. The spoon stirs itself as I watch the ripple of the motion in the teacup. It really does not take long to fiddle with the blend and boil the water and watch it steep, but I drag out as many of the steps as I can, then sip a cup of tea as slowly as I would if it was part of a ritual.
The storm still does not let up. The irritation and unsettled feelings it brings are unwelcome.
My heart beats faster at the idea that it might never let up, and the field might slowly fill with water and cover the cottage.
That will not happen, I promise myself sternly. There is too much earth around me. It will absorb the rain, and more flowers will bloom if the sun comes out.
When the sun comes back out. And when the sun comes back out, I will take my reply to Prince Adom and Princess Charlotte to the letter box along with the gift, and soon all will be well.
I trace the path to the royal palace in my mind, wandering over the path through the woods, which I know very well; over roads I know less well; and finally through the city that surrounds the palace. I picture booths on the market streets where I once stopped to haggle over items with the rest of the coven. I picture pubs and inns and shops decorated for the royal wedding. I picture a bustling city with guests from all over the world gathering ahead of the ceremony and passing the time with dancing and games and conversation. People will be up at all hours of the night. There will always be someone talking. The excitement will grow until the day of the wedding, and then it will spill into the streets with nothing but joyous celebration.