Ágota scoffs at Fülöp’s suggestion, but maintains her silence as her father responds.
“King Charles will not stop until he has deposed all the oligarchs and replaced them with his own men. If we surrender to him, he will remove us from this castle and town and hand them over to one of his sycophants. This is the home we established when we arrived in this world. I will not surrender it to any mortal man and have him rob us of our land.”
Fülöp falls silent, chastised by the words of the Grandwitch.
Ágota folds her arms over her breasts and sneers at Fülöp with disgust. “How easily you buckle before your enemies.”
“I strive to protect us, unlike you!” he retorts.
Balázs stands and his face ripples as the glamour takes hold transforming his appearance to the much older version of him. “Sound the alarms, close the gates, and prepare for a possible siege, Fülöp.”
“Make the Archwitch useful and have her deal with this,” Fülöp says, the words clipped, his tone almost abrasive. “If she is all she is supposed to be, is it not time for her to stand for us just as the Archwitches did at the end of our world?”
Ágota’s eyebrows rise and her eyes widen in surprise as she swivels about to face Fülöp’s fury.
“We are warriors of the blade as well as magic. We will fight our own battle,” Balázs replies.
“You have foisted your daughter upon this coven and insisted she is our salvation, so let her act as such!” Fülöp insists. “Let her be more than a nuisance and a constant distraction to our coven!”
Clenching her hands, Ágota steps toward Fülöp. “Perhaps you are a nuisance and a distraction to my-”
“Ágota.” A warning is evident in the way her father speaks her name.
“We have all seen her little tricks, but where is her true power? Does it exist? How do we even know she is a true Archwitch? Perhaps she is glutted on our stolen powers and unable to use them for more than her childish pranks!” Fülöp trembles with anger. “You indulge her and she must now prove herself!”
“You wish for her to take on the king’s troops. Alone?” The incredulous look on Balázs’s face is shaded with growing anger.
“Send her as well,” he says pointing to me. “This is what the Archwitches did in the old world.”
My fingers clutch the hilt of my dagger while I regard Fülöp. Ice forms over my heart and murderous wrath steals my breath. I see vividly in his eyes that he wants us dead and has seized upon this moment to thrust us toward danger in hopes that we will fail. He is one of Soffia’s closest allies and I regret not finding the opportunity to sink my knife into her. Jealousy clouds her judgment and infects those around her. Now the poison she has spread might force my sister to do what comes so easily to me, but not her.
Kill.
Chapter 14
I watch Balázs’s expression when Fülöp, his advisor and member of the coven, demands that Ágota, at last, embrace her role as Archwitch, defender of witches, and witness the struggle in his eyes. Balázs is a castle warrior, Grandwitch of the coven, guardian to me, and father to my sister the Archwitch. He survived the cataclysm that destroyed his world and has lived hundreds of years. He is a man of integrity, wisdom, and goodness. Yet, he will make a choice that will drive a wedge between me and him.
When he makes his decision, his shoulders slump and he averts his gaze from Ágota. Perhaps Balázs has been protecting her from this moment all along and can no longer stand between her and her heritage, but I will not forgive him. I am the killer, not Ágota. She is brash, strong, and independent of mind, but she is not capable of taking a life.
“You want me face the king’s troops with my sister? Just the two of us?” Ágota scoffs at Fülöp. “That is not how Archwitches dealt with enemies in the past!”
“Afraid?” Fülöp’s handsome face twists into a disapproving scowl. “I thought so.”
“No, you imbecile! The Archwitches always fought in groups of five. I will need four other witches as my siphons. You should know that.” Ágota glowers at her former lover’s husband with disdain. Despite her bravado, I observe what no one else in the room will detect. She’s unsettled by the thought of battle. “Or have you not ever been in combat?”
“Ágota,” her father says in a warning voice.
“I have fought my enemies with iron gripped in one hand and a shield held in the other,” Fülöp retorts. “I have waged war to protect our kind while you play tricks and lead young women astray!”
“Tricks? Astray?” Ágota’s eyes flame a bright green. “Continue to insult me and you will be shivering on the roof.”
“Ágota, enough!”
Her father’s voice straightens her spine and shuts her mouth. Pivoting slowly on her heel, she turns to face him. Balázs regards her with love, but also fierce resolve. “Ágota, we must completely thwart our enemy. There can be no survivors. King Charles must understand that to come against us is death for all his men. A crushing victory will keep him from our walls for a time. Your power can give us such a victory. Do you understand?”
Ágota visibly swallows, then nods. “I will need siphons. You cannot send me out with only Erjy.”
“Agreed. Choose your siphons, Ágota.”