The Vampire & Her Witch

”I am different,” Ashlynn acknowledged as she set down her half empty goblet of wine wile her tone grew very solemn. ”But just because I was born with power doesn’t mean that I haven’t faced trials in order to earn it. It’s just that the trials I face feel like they’re a never ending exam,” she said a touch wryly.

”You’ve seen what happens when the power I have isn’t kept under control,” Ashlynn said softly. ”There was a Mother of Trees in the past who lost control of her power and it not only consumed her, it consumed an entire forest, leaving behind a towering spruce tree that is the only growing thing for more than fifty leagues in any direction.”

At the time, the story Amahle told her all those months ago felt like an abstract sort of cautionary tale. The sort of folk lore that warned children to go to bed on time before the monsters gobbled up their toes or the warnings of the Church about the ancient times when the spirits of the dead preyed freely on the living in the old countries. It might be a thing that happened once, but it had very little to do with her.

Now, she knew better. Amahle hadn’t given her a vague warning that was part of witchcraft’s body of ancient, dusty traditions, but a dire warning about the very real threat of being consumed by her own power.

”For the coven, earning the right to be a witch means facing the trials of your seed. Essentially, witchcraft’s version of the exams you took,” Ashlynn said as she tried to compare the process of becoming a witch to something that Isabell was familiar with. ”But to be a great witch, earning your power means facing the constant threat of your power consuming you. If you cannot prove yourself capable as a witch, just as you had to prove yourself to be capable as an engineer, then there will be nothing left but a tree or a bush to mark the place where you fell.”

The previous Mother of Trees who had been consumed by the desire to produce an overwhelmingly powerful seed of witchcraft for her husband was just one example of a witch who had succumbed to their power. Sister Holly in the Briar was another, and there were countless more.

Nyrielle said that vampires danced on the edge of a blade between life and death. For Ashlynn, there were times when being a witch felt like resisting the powerful pull of a dozen anchor chains, each pulling in a different direction. And if any one of them overwhelmed her, they would drag her to the inescapable depths at the bottom of a sea of desires.

”I don’t know if what I’m about to say is true or not,” Ashlynn added carefully. ”But lately, I’m coming to believe it, at least a little. Nyri says time grinds away at the hearts of vampires, wearing their ability to feel until nothing remains but cold and dust. For witches, I think it’s the opposite. We, we feel, very, very intensely. Love, hate, grief, joy...”

”Our powers are driven by our desires,” Ashlynn said solemnly. ”And sometimes, we are tormented by those desires. Mastering that nature goes beyond learning to use your power and if I’m honest, I’m still a long way from calling myself a master. It’s just that I don’t have the luxury of time to wait until I can master all of this... or maybe, it’s that the only way I can master it is if I work through the things that torment me so that I’m not consumed by them in the end.”

”I see,” Isabell said as she carefully considered Ashlynn’s words. ”Lady Heila said that you’d come to offer me a position in your coven,” she said after several quiet moments. ”I’ve thought for days about what sort of answer I’d give you when you came and to be honest,” she said as she removed her silver, wire framed spectacles. ”I haven’t come up with an answer because I still don’t understand what all of this means for me.”

Isabell set down her wine goblet with hands that had begun to tremble slightly. The thought of being consumed by magical power, of losing herself so completely that nothing remained but a tree to mark where she had stood, sent a chill through her that had nothing to do with the winter night outside.

Worse than the thought of turning into a tree, however, was her memory of Ashlynn, surrounded by a strange wind and lost in the rush of power, pain and grief when she’d learned that her sister had been the one who betrayed her.

At the time, Isabell was helpless to protect herself and without Lady Heila’s healing, she’d likely still be bed bound recovering from her wounds. If Isabell ever did that to her own family... and if there wasn’t someone who could protect them from her or if she did something to them that couldn’t be healed... she could never forgive herself.

”When I was younger,” Isabell said slowly, ”when I followed the Emerald Prince into battle, I had nothing to lose. I was alone in the world, with no family depending on me, no children who needed their mother to come home safely each night. I could throw myself into the work of war because the worst thing that could happen was that I would die. At the time, that felt like an acceptable risk for the chance to help build something better.”

She really had believed that she was fighting for something worthwhile. That the prince’s usurper of an uncle represented a danger to the kingdom and its people because a man who would betray his own family would surely betray his subjects.

Later on, when the newly crowned Emerald King began to assemble his court and she saw the way people eagerly began carving up the map, claiming new territories to lord over as their spoils for backing the ’right side’ in the war, she began to question if the war had truly had a ’right side’ and if it had been worth the risks she’d taken.

And here she was again, sitting in a sitting room that reminded her so much of the private study where she’d met with the Emerald Prince and his close confidants to discuss fighting back against his uncle, speaking with a young noblewoman with a just cause for starting another war. Only this time, the thought of joining that war carried much, much more severe consequences.