Slamming her fist on the table, she rises to loom over me. “I made a sacred vow to our mother to protect you and I will! You are my sister, Erzsébet. I love you and I will keep you from all harm. Your childish stubbornness cannot prevent me from my sisterly duty.”
“I am not childish! I am about to be a married woman!”
“You are a child!” Ágota snarls in my face. “A stubborn child who refuses to see the truth of this world.”
“I acknowledge that the world is a dangerous place. I have killed to protect you and the coven. I would willingly do so again! But our enemies are far from here and our lives are at peace at last. We are not shackled to the threats of our old lives. We have begun anew!”
“New threats could reveal themselves tomorrow!”
“I am a powerful battlewitch. I can defend myself.”
“And what of the coven? You know I refuse to kill.”
“I would never ask that of you.”
“But you are by refusing the usage of the portal.”
“You may lose yourself opening it!”
&n
bsp; “It is a risk I must take to protect this coven and you!”
“If you create it, I will never use it!” I shout at her, my rage nearly choking me. “So do not even attempt to make it! I will not have you risking your life!”
My emotions are complicated. A part of my argument is purely selfish. I desire to establish my own life with my beloved Albrecht far from here. I love Balázs and the coven, but I cannot always be the one to fight their battles. They survived before Ágota and I arrived on their doorstep, certainly, they can do so again. But beyond my own selfish motives is the root of fear that I will lose my sister if she attempts to create the gateway. Magic can be terrifying, and the thought of her performing a spell that could kill her just so that I may return home once a month frightens me. Even though I believe she sincerely fears for my life, I cannot allow her to risk her own when she cannot even determine the possible sources of my supposed demise.
Ágota flings up her long hands at me and stomps about the room in a rage. “Why must you be so stubborn? You are so very much like our mother! She never listened to my warnings. I told her we needed to leave our home, but she insisted we had more time before we had to move on. You are so like her!”
The memory of my mother’s screams as she burned haunts my dreams and sends an icy finger of dread down my spine. Ágota is not the only one who compares me to our mother. The coven does as well. There are times when I see Balázs gaze upon with me with great sadness, mourning what he has lost.
“So are you, Ágota! You always think you are right and disregard what everyone else says! You know the creation of the gateway will be dangerous and might kill you, yet you are determined to risk yourself. The coven needs you! I need you! So does father!”
“He agrees with me!”
“Because he is afraid and knows you will not kill to defend the coven.”
“Do not use my desire not to kill against me!”
“I am the killer, not you! Ágota, you are the best of us because you want to preserve life. You have so much power, but you do not use it to elevate yourself. You use it to help others. Which is why you must not risk yourself!”
“I love you, Erjy. Can you not see the lengths I would go to make sure you are safe? I remember when you were born and I held you in my arms. Shriveled, wet, and beautiful, you stared up at me and I named you. You are my sister. Nothing in this world will keep me from protecting you. Nothing!”
At that declaration, I understand my argument is lost. Ágota will never bow to my pleas. The fervency of her love washes over me and despite my stubborn nature, I surrender to her wishes. The doorway between Gratz and the vineyard will be created and I will use it every New Moon to join the coven in rituals. Though I fear for her, I also know she was the most powerful witch of us all.
What we do not account for in all our arguments is that there are forces greater than her waiting to strike.
Chapter 22
I am weak.
Untethered.
Lost and drifting again.
Though I am certain I am still a captive of the mausoleum, I am no longer aware of the dank tomb. There is only darkness occasionally pierced by the transcendence of memory.
Am I near death?