Chapter 1440: To Paradise, the Witches Rushed!

Around the marble table, the veiled women bent once more towards the Ancient Grimoire. Clara watched them turn towards one another, questioning in lowered voices what they had just heard.

"If we have read this aright," a woman in dark green began, "then might the Young Dragon also be her Lord— her first companion?" She rose, gathering her skirts clear of the chair, she looked towards the High Sorceress. "’Whilst her first and only companion attendeth the very rites that seal her doom, himself oblivious to her plight and the crouching demise of her Soul!’ Eleanor is to wed a Price. Should that marriage conceal the rite foretold here, her Lord_ the dragon— must be amongst those who attend the ceremony itself."

"He must," a quieter woman conceded. "But what leads you to the Dragon?"

"The order of the foretelling. First the Cosmic becomes Genesis, then comes the Angel’s demise— which we can tell they’ve ready happened, the World Essence reveals that much— and thereafter the First Witch and her lord. Why place their fates so near upon the page if they bear no relation to one another?" She glanced down at the Grimoire. "I would be wary of dismissing the Dragon from what follows merely because he is not named again."

"A man of his standing upon Hell’s Paradise would scarcely be absent from the wedding," another observed. "The Prices are marrying their son to a noble WitchBourne heiress— on of the most respected old houses in Britain. They would have every reason to invite all Legacy Families and other individuals in such standings— him included."

The woman in green inclined her head, though her eagerness had begun to falter as she considered where the thought led. "Then he comes as a guest, believing he is there to witness a marriage. Eleanor enters their House of her own will, believing much the same. Whatever rite awaits her afterwards—"

"Her Lord would already be there," the quieter woman finished. "Close enough to see it done, and ignorant of what he was witnessing and what would happen later after the marriage."

Clara’s fingers tightened around Evelyn’s hand.

Within the chamber, the woman in green slowly resumed her seat, smoothing a fold of silk without looking at it: "If that is what these words foretell, then Eleanor and the Dragon may already be bound to one another, though neither knows it."

An older woman stirred beneath her white veil. "The foretelling names him but it does not name him husband."

"Her first and only companion?" another replied. "For the First Witch, that is no small thing to say!"

"Her one and only true husband," said the High Sorceress, and the woman in green’s hand stilled upon her skirts.

Beyond the doorway, Clara held her breath. Evelyn turned towards her, pale beneath the brim of her bonnet, but Clara could only stare at the High Sorceress. Until now she had been listening to the women speak of a terrible danger to Eleanor; she had scarcely considered that Eleanor might already have a husband, and be as ignorant of him as he was of her.

"And neither knows?" a woman asked.

"Not yet, I believe." The High Sorceress kept her hand upon the Grimoire while silk whispered along the table. Several of the women had drawn closer to its edge, their attention returning to the words before them.

One leaned forward, her voice subdued: "Then what have we consented to? If this is indeed her lord, and the Prices mean to claim her Soul and powers and devour it for themselves through the marriage, we may have helped them bring her willingly to the altar."

"Her powers— the greatest witch to ever live!" someone murmured.

"And her Soul." The answer came from the far side of the table, followed by the passage itself. "’Willingly and unknowing, she shall yield up her Soul unto the material plane.’"

The High Sorceress’s fingers pressed into the leather beneath them. Clara swallowed, her mouth was dry, while Evelyn remained so still beside her that only the warmth of her hand reassured her she was there. If the women were right, Eleanor would walk towards that altar believing herself a bride, surrounded by people who had come to celebrate with her.

Clara could not rid herself of the thought.

A chair scraped across the marble, and the High Sorceress rose. Her black skirts fell about her in heavy folds against the white splendour of the chamber; silver embroidery gleamed beneath the wandering lights, fine as frost upon the dark cloth.

Every woman at the table straightened as she looked along their ranks.

"We have awaited the First Witch’s return for generations. We’ve all know she’s Eleanor but we’ve been waiting in shadows so she can awaken on her own but she won’t; instead she’ll be devoured by the Wolves before she awaken! It falls to us to guard her." Her gaze rested upon the Grimoire. "With her warning before us— we realized that our silent watching have done nothing for her given her into Fenris’s keeping."

"It feels like out silence arranged her for them," one woman whispered.

"We may have." The High Sorceress turned towards her. "The marriage has yet to take place. Let us see what can still be prevented."

Lady Margaret lifted her chin. "What would you have us do, High Sorceress?"

"Go to Hell’s Paradise. We shall learn little more by remaining here whilst those of whom we speak draw nearer to the altar."

"Whom shall we send?" another asked. "Someone to watch over Eleanor, or an envoy to the Prices?"

"I shall go." She set both hands upon the marble, her black sleeves spreading beside the ancient tome. "And all of you shall accompany me."

A dozen veiled faces lifted towards her. Clara felt Evelyn shift beside the doorway, but neither dared move farther while the High Sorceress continued.

"If our foremother walks with the sharp scythe of the grim on her throat, WE will look upon her ourselves. We shall seek out this Young Dragon and learn what befell the World Essence last night. I will not leave Eleanor’s safety to tidings carried between Houses whilst we wait here for certainty." She looked towards Lady Margaret. "And should the Prices have prepared some rite beyond the marriage they have declared, they shall answer to us for it before they lay a hand upon her."

"The Prices will hardly welcome so many of us upon their threshold without wary," a noblewoman ventured.

"Then we shall spare them the burden of welcoming us." The High Sorceress drew herself upright, her composure undisturbed: "They need only remember whose daughter they intend to marry."

A few shoulders shifted with restrained amusement, though no one laughed aloud. The High Sorceress reached towards the Grimoire, and its great clasps stirred beneath her glove. One lock closed, then the others followed, fastening with the deep metallic clicks Clara and Evelyn had heard before venturing to the doorway. Ancient silver tightened about the greyed leather, securing the words that had survived so many generations to trouble this one.

"Until we know who this Dragon is, and what binds him to Eleanor, the foretelling remains within this chamber," she said. "Should the Prices be ignorant of it, let them remain so. We shall judge when it is safe to speak to the Dragon. Eleanor, too, must be told nothing until we understand whether such knowledge would help us save her, or lead her more swiftly to the fate we dread."

The women bowed their veiled heads. "As you command, High Sorceress."

She turned towards the tall white windows.

Beyond them lay the pale morning and the grey countryside, familiar grounds that Clara had scarcely thought beyond when she followed Evelyn to the hall. Now, watching the High Sorceress stand before the glass, she found herself thinking of the sea and the distant island where Eleanor’s marriage awaited them. The woman gathered her skirts, and her final command sent the first chairs sliding back from the table.

"Now we make haste for Hell’s Paradise Island!"