Bridging the Ancient ✓

Chapter 47

The Lord and his wife are two very short and chubby witches.

There's a difference when spotting whether someone is a human or a witch. As this time, it's evident they have a very dangerous power underneath their skin. But it's not always easy to tell, with Tesha, I never knew she didn't carry our strength in her veins—I thought the power she didn't actually hold gave her the drive to be brave. Turns out, she was more courageous than most of those witches in the rebellion and probably dead, if the king made quick work of them.

Putting on my most excited smile, I shove my way to the front of the crowd as Echo told me to do. I don't have to use my elbows but I do have to slither through like a snake until I'm front and center with these people surrounding me like the two people descending the stairs are royalty and not a Lord that has weaseled his way into the king's good graces. At least for now.

Down the red velvet stairs, they walk arm in arm, smiling at those guests that clap and greet them by name. A woman down the line allows a tear to slip from the corner of her eye to bring more attention to herself and rid everyone else of being the focal point to the honored guest. Already, his wife is placing a hand over her heart to show her appreciation towards those that care.

Forcing my hands together, I clap for their arrival and when they reach the bottom, step forward. But I'm shoved back by the woman with the fake tear, forced to wait until it's my turn to speak. Her voice is shrill as she speaks loud enough for everyone in the ballroom to hear, so much that the crowd hushes, wondering if a dying cat somehow stumbled into one of the finest palaces in the kingdom. Alas, it's not a dying cat, but this woman's voice.

Lord Cavanaugh, after being one of the most ancient witches in the kingdom, has begun to show his age. It's fair to say he's been around since the first king and in a matter of time, will slowly begin to fade into the light along with his wife. They're both old, considering their hair is grey and their eyes are a sickly shade of yellow—true evidence of their age.

Not every witch has to give into the afterlife. It makes me wonder why these two are; if they've been around so long, why give up now? There is still an entire world out there and once there's a better, nicer king on the throne, life in the kingdom will reach an all-time high. Every day, I wish Silas would step forward and take the throne himself but no one would defy the king in fear of losing their head in a matter of seconds.

If the prince can't stand up to his father, is that why Lord Cavanaugh has seen no sign of hope for the future? He's fading at the hands of the king's cruel reign; he doesn't want to see what will come of it—I understand now why this is so important to him. This celebration isn't just another year of life for his wife, it's the last. And they're celebrating it as such.

Their lives won't extend much farther, they've made that clear enough with how extravagant this birthday celebration is. I wonder how they can smile at those that greet them without visibly grimacing; if they're not on the inside. But with each person that arrives and shakes their hands in gratitude, I knew they're too busy to reveal their full emotions.

We don't have time to back out now and pay respects to the oldest Lord in Esaria. Instead, we'll have to steal from him and become those witches that in a man's final months, we took something that could have been very important to him. But the last crystal is down in the treasure trove and returning back to the king, telling him we couldn't steal from a man like this, is not acceptable. The king will say as such.

Pushing my way forward, I force another wide smile that hurts my cheeks and brightens my excitement in preparation to thank them for inviting me. Rather, inviting my father that is not actually my father. My real father would enjoy a celebration like this, the dessert table specifically, but he wouldn't stay very long to mingle. If Renit takes more than a few seconds to spot the selfishness in the room, my father would have been quicker than the snap of two fingers.