I scan the witches, noting the colorful fashions. We are not required to dress in the colors of our coven, just as Ari and I are not wearing the colors of Essentria, the Goddess of Creation. But tonight, it seems everyone is dressed in the colors of their covens—various shades of green shimmer over the fabrics and skin paint of those in Cyna’s coven, their discerning eyes evaluating the stalls lining the sides of the cobblestone street, transformed by this large tent. Members of our coven are distinguished by their gold adornments, a stark contrast to the black and silver worn by those in Azkiel’s coven, the God of Death.
The dream witches, practicing Astraea’s magic, the Goddess of Dreams, are beautiful in various shades of blue. Concurrently, those in Volan’s coven, the God of Will, are bold and frightening in deep shades of red and orange, their warrior glares softened by the gentle glow of flickering lanterns.
Nyxara’s coven stands out above the rest. The witches walk, adorned with the color attributed to destiny—purple. Their orb-like eyes wander, as if they’re lost in thoughts and futures we cannot see.
A symphony of laughter and melodies erupts into the night from strong musicians accompanying us as we hurry through the labyrinth of teeming crowds. I inhale sharply, slowing my pace as we pass a crowded booth, peering over the shoulders of a group of witches. Cauldrons simmer with potions, bubbling in a kaleidoscope of colors, creating a mesmerizing dance of smoky swirls that interweave with the enchanting aroma of herbs and incense.
“So beautiful,” Ari states as we stop by a stall filled with enchanted talismans. The gold chains and glistening gems lay on top of the vibrant tapestry covering the vendor’s table. He waves us over, his weathered hands covered in silver rings, welcoming us with golden eyes, twinkling with a hint of mischief.
“This’ll look pretty around your neck at your witch ball,” he tells Arabella, and I shake my head.
“She’s already had her ball, four years ago,” I state, and before he can shove another amulet under our noses, I swiftly pull my sister to the booth next to his, where the most mouth-watering aromas permeate the air.
Her eyes flick up to meet mine. “Do I really look sixteen?”
“No,” I say with a laugh.
I turn my attention to a young woman handing out pastries to two witches dressed in dark, floor-length robes. They walk away after handing over their coin, leaving the booth empty save for the two women standing behind it. They share the same raven-black hair and blue eyes, so I assume they are mother and daughter. I notice they’re both adorned in the golds of Essentria’s coven.
“Ooo,” Ari coos, leaning over the stall, a mosaic of culinary enchantments.
Delicate, golden-crusted pastries dusted with a flurry of powdered sugar entice from a display that rivals an artist’s canvas. Crystal jars filled with sugared petals and glistening chocolates beckon me, and my tongue instinctively slides between my lips.
The sweet aroma of buttery pastries and candied fruits mingles with the heady fragrance of smoke and magic, tantalizing my senses, unlike anything I’ve ever experienced at the local bakery.
“Want to try one?” The older of the two witches asks.
“Are they spelled?”
“These are not, but if you want our enchanted cakes, we have a selection here.”
I put my hand up before she can disappear behind her stall and into a crate. “No, I’m good with the normal baked goods.”
I glance at Ari, who tilts her head, the curiosity lacing her expression making me nervous. I lean closer, then whisper, “The last thing we need is to have our inhibitions lowered while surrounded by strangers in the middle of the night.”
She nods, then lets out a small, relenting sigh.
The woman leans over, offering me a sample of a delicate strawberry tart. I bring the crumbly crust to my lips, breathing in its mouthwatering blend of buttery richness and blooming garden of berries.
My teeth sink into the soft, layered pastry, and my eyes flutter shut as all the flavors dance unrestrained upon my tongue.
“That,” I say, after the last crumb has tumbled between my lips, “Is pure magic.”
Ari lets out a soft moan beside me, finishing the last of a slice of cake, a waft of cinnamon drifting from her breath. “Pure magic,” she agrees and pulls eight small bronze coins from her leather pouch. “What can I get for eight knogs?”
“Two more slices of that cake,” the woman says, then folds them into brown paper.
I hold a single heavy silver coin between my fingers. “I’ll take as many tarts as a guildre can afford me.”
I turn as she hands me my confectionaries, and my gaze lands on a muscular figure standing three stalls up, wearing a tattered, brown cloak I’d recognize anywhere. Drake said he’d be here, but I thought perhaps he’d changed his mind.
His tousled black hair falls effortlessly across his forehead as he runs his fingers through it. A subtle tan adorns his skin, a tribute to his days of training in the sun. Most believe he wants to become an Enforcer, despite how few outside of Cyna’s coven are being invited to be a protector, but I know the truth. Drake’s family isn’t influential, and when the Choosing happens, it’s likely that his name will be drawn.
I swallow thickly as a lump forms in my throat, and Ari links her arm with mine, then waves at Drake. “Let’s go say hi,” she says. “Take your hood down and show off how pretty your hair looks tonight.”
I bat her hand away when she attempts to touch my cloak. “He doesn’t care how I look,” I hiss, but straighten my posture.
“So? He can always change how he sees you.”
“Stop meddling,” I whisper.
I watch as he engages in conversation with a stall vendor, his eyes trailing over tomes of leather-bound books. The moment he leans over to take a closer look, his cloak parts and reveals his toned thighs, snugly hugged by a pair of fitted pants.
I know I shouldn’t stare, but I can’t resist stealing a glance now and then. A flush of heat creeps into my face, and I scowl at the obvious display of my emotion. Gods, I hate wearing my feelings so glaringly.
He waves to the vendor, his smile reaching his eyes and crinkling the corners. He turns, his baggy leather boots, worn and scuffed, then runs a hand over the stubble framing his rugged features.
He turns his attention in our direction, and then waves as he spots us. He hurries toward us with that charming wide smile. “Hey, Wildflower.” He pauses, raking his eyes over my body with open appreciation. “You look different.”
“Good different,” Ari says, crossing her arms over her chest, and Drake arches his brow at me in a way that makes me want to shrink into the crowd.
“Yes,” he drawls, his gaze focused on mine. “You’re always beautiful to me.”
Ari looks up at me, her eyes widening. She thinks she’s being so subtle, as if we can’t both see that told-you-so smile. Gods fucking kill me right now.
He drops his gaze to Ari, changing the subject. “I’m surprised you’re out. Is your mother finally loosening those reins?”
Ari beams up at him, pride sharpening her expression. “She doesn’t know. We snuck out.”
