Darien
The witch arrived at noon.
She came in a black SUV with tinted windows, escorted by two younger witches who flanked her like bodyguards as she stepped onto the cobblestones of the kingdom’s main courtyard. She was older than I expected. Not frail, nothing about this woman suggested fragility, but the lines on her face spoke of decades of power wielded and consequences absorbed. Her hair was silver-white, pulled back from her face in a tight braid that fell to the middle of her back. Her eyes were dark, nearly black, and they swept the courtyard with detached precision. She looked to be someone who was cataloging every potential threat and every potential weakness in the span of a single glance.
Iris. Mother Witch of the Petalis Coven.
Cain had called in a favor to get her here.
