The Vampire & Her Witch Chapter 2051: Planting the Olive Seed (Part Two)

One by one, the coven brought their offerings...

Ollie went first. He knelt at the circle of air and laid the blue jay’s quill within it. For a moment, nothing happened. Then a breath of wind rose from nowhere, stirring the mist, and the quill dissolved into a hundred tiny feathers of blue-green light that spun upward and vanished into the ring.

Heila came next, to the circle of water. She unstoppered the little vial of Ashlynn’s tears and let them fall, drop by drop, into the soil. Each one glowed with a pale, inner light, splashing on the ground before it sank into the circle without a trace. Ashlynn felt them go, the happy ones and the sad ones together, and her throat tightened.

She knelt at the circle of earth herself.

The jar was cold in her hands. Virve had gone to gather the dirt for her from the shallow grave at the edge of the Vale, the one where Owain’s knights had left her to die. It still smelled of wet cedar and rain. For one dizzying moment, she was back there, choking, the soil pressing down on her chest, and she could feel the damp earth beneath the nails of her fingers as her hand tightened around the jar hard enough for it to crack...

Ashlynn tore herself free of the memory with the same determination that she’d once pulled herself free of the earth. Then, slowly and steadily, she poured the dirt from her own grave into the circle and let the earth drink it in.

The memory went with it, leaving a sense of hollow numbness behind. The memory wasn’t lost, and the ache was still present, but somehow, it had taken on a life of its own, like a predator who had turned away from her to stalk other prey.

Next, Isabell knelt at the circle of wood and set her little bridge down in the soft earth. Willow and hemlock, oak and cypress and ash, all woven together into a single, graceful arch. The bridge glowed faintly. Then it began to crumble, not into dust but into motes of silvery light, which drifted up like fireflies and spun slowly down into the ring.

Last of all, Virve knelt at the circle of fire.

She set down the copper bowl, unfolded Ashlynn’s letter and laid it inside. Then she looked up at Ashlynn and waited for Ashlynn’s command.

Ashlynn’s throat tightened, too much to speak, and in her ears, she could hear the scratch of her steel-tipped pen writing out the words: I love you, Jocey. And I hate you. Her right hand clenched, forming itself around a pen that wasn’t there until she shook the feeling off and nodded for Virve to begin.

Virve snapped her fingers, striking claw against claw the way a lesser man would strike steel against flint, and a greenish-gold spark of witchfire leapt from her fingers onto the page, setting them ablaze.

Ashlynn watched the flames curl across the page. She knew every word written there, and the flames consumed them all. The ink blackened, and the paper curled, and the fire burned higher and brighter than any single sheet of paper had a right to burn, until it rose from the bowl in a column of gold that was drawn down into the circle like water down a drain.

When it was gone, the copper bowl was empty. Not even ash remained.

Then glyphs in the soil began to glow.

Ashlynn turned toward the edge of the circle, where her sister stood waiting with Ollie at her side.

Jocelynn was shaking. She’d been shaking since they reached the top of the hill. But her chin was high, and when she bent to unlace her sandals, her hands were steady enough. She slipped them off one at a time and handed them to Ollie.

Then she stepped barefoot onto the frozen ground.

Ashlynn saw her flinch at the cold, nearly stumbling until Ollie reached out to support her with a strong, unshakable arm. Then, Jocelynn steadied herself and lifted her chin a little higher before she walked forward into the glowing circle until she stood barely an arm’s length away.

"In this circle," Jocelynn said, with a voice that only trembled a little. "In this circle, I name myself Jocelynn. I enter with open hands and an open heart. I’ve come to receive a seed, to join the coven of the Mother of Trees and become her Olive Witch. Wherever roots regrow from ash and golden oil awakens flame, my life is hers to command. Today I’ve come to make this stand."

The glyphs flared beneath their feet.

And deep in Ashlynn’s chest, the Olive Seed stirred.

She felt its roots shift around her heart at the sound of her sister’s voice. Not the tight, choking clench she’d grown used to these past months, whenever Jocelynn’s name was spoken. Something else. A slow, deep, contented warmth that spread outward from her breastbone like a cat stretching beside a hearth.

The seed was pleased.

Ashlynn’s breath caught. She’d fed it love. She’d fed it hope and joy and every warm memory of her sister she could find, with Nyrielle’s blood to bind them. She’d done everything she could to cleanse it.

So why did its pleasure still feel so much like hunger?

Ashlynn looked at her sister for a long moment. Her eyes lingered on the keyhole in her black silk gown, the pale skin over her heart framed in crimson and gold, and on the seafoam eyes she’d known all her life. Jocelynn’s gaze was wide and frightened, but the set of her jaw was strong and determined.

"Kneel, Jocey," Ashlynn said gently.

Jocelynn knelt in the cold, frozen earth.

Ashlynn drew a small silver knife from her belt, bent, and made a single shallow cut over her sister’s breastbone, no longer than her smallest finger. Jocelynn hissed. A bright bead of blood welled up and ran down into the black silk.

Then Ashlynn straightened and turned to her first witch.

"Heila," she said. "It’s time to cut the Olive Seed from my chest..."