“You,” she whispers.
“Wise.” Her father nods with approval.
Lowering her eyes, Ágota twists her hands anxiously. “I need the most powerful among the coven. So Soffia.”
“You dare not—” Fülöp starts, but Balázs quiets him with a stern look.
“I should not take Erjy. She’s too young. Not fully trained,” Ágota says.
“We have seen her power,” Fülöp retorts. “We know she is swiftly becoming what you are.”
Our lie has come back to haunt us. If not for Ágota funneling her power through the ring on my finger, all would know I am as weak as any mortal despite my mother’s blood in my veins.
“Erzsébet should be at your side,” Balázs says. Despite the gentleness of his delivery, it is clearly a command. “Choose your fourth, Ágota.”
Closing her eyes, Ágota sways on her feet. Finally, she says, “Henrietta.”
“What?” Fülöp gives Ágota a disbelieving look. “The English witch is one of the lowest witches in the coven. She is barely trained! She was an orphan taken in by mortal parents and barely understands her true heritage!”
“But she is more powerful than you are. Or any of the others in the coven except for Soffia
and my father.” Ágota exhales, her shoulders slumping. “I would rather cart your ass out there, but you would fail me. She will not despite her lack of proper training.”
Fülöp sputters, indignant at this insult, but it is the truth.
Barely hiding his smirk, Balázs says, “So be it. Your siphons are named.”
“Gather the coven in the great hall. We begin within the hour,” Ágota tells Fülöp.
He openly bristles at her order, his gaze switching to Balázs for confirmation.
“You heard your Archwitch. Do as she says.”
Fuming, Fülöp stomps from the room, more petulant than I ever was as a child. As the door shuts, Balázs approaches Ágota while she stares at him with her bottom lip trembling. Settling his big hands on her narrow shoulders, Balázs regards her somberly.
“It is time for you to fully embrace your role. I have indulged you long enough. You have trained hard, learned much, and are powerful. As Archwitch, it is your duty to protect the witches.”
“Mother did not,” I say in a cross voice.
With a sorrowful smile, Balázs says, “Yes, she did. She took Ágota somewhere safe, therefore securing our future. With your sister’s return, the role of the Archwitch must once more rise to prominence in our coven. We have languished too long in our sorrows. We have mourned too long what was lost. It is time for you to remind us of the true power of the witch heritage.”
“Must I kill the soldiers? Is there no other way?” Ágota pulls on her bottom lip with her teeth.
“You are a wielder of death. That is one of your roles.”
Closing her eyes, Ágota nods.
“Ágota is not a killer. She is good to everyone. And even when they are terrible, she does not kill them. She just makes sure they learn their lesson,” I say in her defense. “I do not think it is fair that you are allowing Fülöp to force her into killing people because he is a coward.”
Balázs meets my angry gaze with a very somber one. “There has been too much strife in the coven—too much animus against Ágota and you, Erjy. It is time for me to stop protecting you and allow you to take your rightful places in our hierarchy.” Returning his attention to my sister, he says, “It is time for you to be an Archwitch not just in name, but in feat, Ágota.”
My sister bobs her head despite the trepidation in her eyes. “I understand.”
“Now, change your dress and cloak, brush your hair, and make yourself presentable.”
Ágota leans into his kiss on her forehead and clings to him for comfort. When he releases her, she takes my hand.
“Come, Erjy.”