The Vampire & Her Witch Chapter 2048: Jocelynn’s Arrival

Run.

The word hung in the smoky air long after Lady Heila hopped down from her boulder, and Charlotte couldn’t stop hearing it.

In every fairy story she’d ever read, there was always someone who warned the heroes to turn back. A crone at a crossroads, or a weathered veteran who had barely survived the dangers ahead. And the heroes never listened to the warning, or even if they did, they never turned back. Charlotte had always thought them terribly foolish for it.

She didn’t think so now.

Her fingers had found Adala’s arm without noticing, and she was holding on so tightly that her knuckles ached through her gloves.

"Do you want to go back?" Adala murmured as she placed herself protectively between Charlotte and the place where the witches gathered. "If you do, say the word, and I’ll go with you," she promised.

"No," Charlotte whispered, shaking her head. "Ashlynn might not be noting down who came or who leaves, but Jocelynn needs to see us here. She needs to know that her friends came for her. Unless," she said hesitantly. "Do you need to go? If you do..."

"No," Adala interrupted before Charlotte could say more. When she laced her fingers through Charlotte’s, her grip was as steady as iron. "You’re right that Jocelynn needs to see us here, so we stay."

Then the mist above the fortress path began to glow.

It wasn’t the ruddy orange of the bonfires, or the warm gold of a lantern. It was green. A soft, impossible jade-green that bled through the fog and smoke like moonlight seeping through clouds above.

All around the ring of fires, heads turned and tongues stilled.

Sir Ollie appeared first, stepping out of the darkness with a carved wooden lantern held high in one hand. Inside it, where a candle or oil lamp should have been, a small flame of jade-green witchfire burned without a flicker, casting everything around him in shades of emerald and shadow.

Like the rest of the coven, he had dressed for war. A coat of steel mail glinted beneath his jade-green tabard, where the cooking pot and the cypress tree of his crest stood out boldly against his chest. His wide-brimmed witch’s hat sat low over his flame-red hair, and at his waist hung his two blades: the heavy darksteel cleaver, and the long, pale knife that was a near twin to the one Heila carried.

And on his other arm, leaning against him for support, walked Jocelynn.

Charlotte’s breath caught in her throat at the sight of her friend and the dress she wore.

The gown was black. Not the dull black of mourning wool, but a deep, liquid black silk that seemed to drink the light around it, falling from Jocelynn’s shoulders to sweep the frosted ground. Long sleeves hugged her arms to the wrist, where narrow bands of crimson and gold caught the firelight and flashed like embers of a dying flame. The same crimson and gold traced the hem and the high, elegant neckline. Those same colors traced the edges of a narrow opening set just over her heart: a slender keyhole of pale skin, framed in crimson and gold.

A moment later, Charlotte understood what those colors had been chosen for, and her heart ached for it.

Jocelynn’s honey-blonde hair had been woven into a single, heavy braid that fell over one shoulder. A red-and-gold dagger hung at her belt. And beneath the sweeping hem of the gown, her feet wore only the simplest of sandals to keep her from stepping directly on the cold, frozen ground.

Charlotte shivered in her boots at the sight of it, but Jocelynn seemed to be immune to the chill in the air.

Ollie had shortened his stride to match hers. His arm was steady beneath her hand. The green light of his lantern fell across them both, and for one breathless moment, they looked exactly like something out of the oldest stories Charlotte knew: the knight and his lady, walking out of the darkness together.

Except that in those stories, the knight was taking his lady home after rescuing her from danger. Tonight, Sir Ollie was leading Jocelynn to what might be her death.

Behind them, Lady Maela emerged from the mist on the arm of a short, horned Eldritch soldier in a midnight-blue and emerald-green gambeson. He barely came up to her shoulder if you included the height of his curled horns, but he guided her over the roots and the icy stones with a gentle, unhurried care. Maela’s face was pale beneath her hood, but her eyes never left her daughter.

Captain Albyn was the first to respond, stepping forward and kneeling on the hard, frozen ground while pressing his fingertips to his chest in the Eldritch style.

"Princess Jocelynn," Albyn said loudly enough that his voice echoed across the Enchanted Grove. "We’ve gathered your crew. We’re here for you, Your Highness!"

Devlin, Sir Elgon, Sir Beathan and all the rest from Blackwell weren’t far behind them, kneeling on the frozen ground or bowing low to welcome Jocelynn to the Enchanted Grove.

Across the clearing, several people looked uncertain about whether they should kneel or remain standing. After all, the Blackwells had a different relationship with their vassals than they did with the others who were here. But while others were uncertain of the etiquette, Charlotte made her move, pulling Adala along with her as she crossed the frozen ground.

"Jocelynn, good luck," Charlotte said as she threw her arms around the startled princess and hugged her tightly. "You can do this. I know you can," she whispered before stepping back and blushing furiously.

"I believe in you," Adala said, stepping in to give Jocelynn a brief hug of her own. "You survived the Inquisition, and that monster, Owain. You’ll pass this trial in no time," she said confidently.

"Thank you," Jocelynn said. The look of firm resolve on her face crumbled for a moment in the face of her friend’s affection, but she quickly schooled her features into a mask of calm, confident dignity.

"Thank you all," Jocelynn said, addressing the crowd. "Seeing you all here, out in the cold like this, for me... How can I let you down?" Jocelynn said, giving the crowd the brightest smile she could manage.

In the light of bonfires and torches, the smile was convincing enough for those who didn’t know her well. For people like Charlotte and Adala, however, who were close enough to see the subtle signs, their worries only deepened.

"Come," Ollie prompted gently. "We should join the others. Lady Adala, Lady Charlotte, maybe you could keep Lady Maela company during the ritual? I’m sure she’d appreciate that," he suggested.

"You go," Maela said, stepping forward to give Jocelynn a hug of her own. "I’ll be waiting to welcome you back as the Olive Witch," she said in a voice that barely quavered. "I’ll pray for you," she added, gently cupping Jocelynn’s cheek. "Whether the Holy Lord of Light listens to prayers for witches or not, he can listen to me and help to guide you home," she said firmly.

It wasn’t far from where Jocelynn had paused to greet her friends to the small circle of witches who awaited her arrival, but to Charlotte’s eyes, every step Jocelynn took seemed to take her ten times as far away from them until her friend’s appearance was partially obscured by the haze of mist and smoke that filled the Enchanted Grove.

Before Jocelynn and Sir Ollie could greet the rest of the coven, however, the air felt suddenly heavy, and the light from the fires and lanterns grew dim. Even Sir Ollie’s witchfire lantern struggled to hold back the dark as the sound of large, feathered wings filled the air.

Then, the darkness receded, revealing the empresses of the Bloodroot empire standing less than a dozen paces from Jocelynn and the coven.

"Hello, Jocey," Ashlynn said. "Are you ready to begin?"