Page 35 of Demon's Beauty

That ends with me.

I won’t be sending anyone on pointless errands or assigning them to vanity projects just because I can.

And I won’t be quiet when the rest of the council does, either.

That’s one good thing about Ascending—once you do, you’re on equal footing with the rest of the council. Sure, there might still be a social hierarchy of sorts, but rank-wise, priestesses are all the same.

They also can’t be removed, no matter how vocal or critical they might be of the coven and its leadership.

It’s a kernel of hope I’ve tended privately, making plans for how I can do better, be better, push the rest of the council out of their antiquated ways.

I don’t dare say any of it out loud, even to my fellow apprentices. I can’t imagine critiquing the system that’s been in place at the Crescent Coven for generations would land me a spot as a priestess.

I have to wait.

I have to play the game the best I can until I have the power to change the rules.

Keep my head down, plan silently, bide my time until I can make my move. It’s been the way I’ve operated for years now.

At least until yesterday.

All that work, all those years, I might have sent it all up in flames.

There’s nothing strictly forbidding apprentices of my rank from leaving the coven hall.

But mostly we just… don’t.

Especially those of us who have our eye on priestesshood. What good would it do us not to be where everything happens? Where witches compete in their classes and for their mentors, always trying to make a name for themselves and catch the High Priestess’ eye for outstanding talent. Leaving would mean sacrificing being seen, losing what little power and influence we have.

So we stay in that pressure cooker.

Day in, day out, always striving, always with one eye open and never trusting our sister witches fully.

All that pressure only gets worse once an Ascension candidate is chosen.

It’s a precarious time for a witch. Open council spots only come around every few years, and Ascension only happens on Samhain. Though Esme’s made it clear it’s my name she’ll be calling to come to the dais and take my place next to her and the others, that could always change.

Now it seems more likely to change than not.

Why would she give her only council spot to a witch who’s shown she can’t handle her shit?

Sure, I could give up this whole excursion, get someone to take me back to the Veil, slink into the coven hall and pretend nothing happened, but I’ve got the feeling the damage is already done.

Besides, I don’t want to go back.

Not yet.

Despite what this trip is doing to my innate need for routine and predictability, going back and facing everything still sounds infinitely worse.

None of the options are good.

And that was even before… Finn.

Like I’ve summoned him with my thoughts, he appears in the tent’s doorway a few minutes later.

I sense him even before that, though.

The same pull under my breastbone, the tingle of magick against my skin. A warmth growing stronger the closer he gets.