Beneath the Blood Moon

Chapter Three: Solving The Problem

Nnandi paced her bedroom barefoot, the flooring beneath had to have been some blend of exotic furs from endangered species. She marched from one side of the room to the other, a soldier in the trenches of fury and indignation. It wasn't an injustice, being scolded like a child and told to simply accept death. Thousands before her fell in the same way. But it didn't sit well.

Sarai's expectant eyes haunted her mind. Every time she lay down to rest, they were there. Burning in the darkness. It matched the warm place on her arm where Saphine gripped her. Two days and halfway through the third night, it still lingered. Despite the sting, there was a small bud of smug pleasure she derived from it.

She had to have pissed Saphine off for the scorch to be so potent that it stayed for so long. Spite only tempered the dread for a short time before ebbing. Soon, the smile fell from her lips and the scowl resumed position, furrowing her dark brow.

Nnandi released her agitation in a low growl and scraped her hair up into a bun as she paced. Years of pampering in that place made the soles of her feet numb to the extravagant luxury of it all. And it didn't help that she was completely pissed at being treated like a belligerent toddler.

Clenching and releasing her fists, she mumbled rebuttals and replies she wasn't free to express during their meeting. Propriety and not wanting to anger the most powerful witch in the coven, Nnandi was right to hold her tongue. She was weak, not stupid, and getting Saphine worked up wasn't going to help her case any. The problem was, as far as she knew, nothing could truly help her delay the ceremony for the young Ram and herself.

In spite of her own selfish desire to keep living, there was a nagging eating at her conscience. The three that were added to the fold, the tall youth that dared to latch on and follow her through the house whenever she passed through the common areas. Sarai never got the chance to say a word, but she made it known she had a lot to say. Nnandi just wasn't in the mood for listening to someone else come to terms with death as she struggled with her own newfound distaste for the concept.

A brief stillness, accompanied by a pause in her rantings, she was reminded of the true purpose of her visit once more. It wasn't just her facing off against the coven's staunch traditions for her own life. Of course she cared what happened to her, despite years without family, friends, magik. It all wore Nnandi down until she was a husk of bitter weariness.

But those kids, barely seventeen, having to let go of everything they've known and cherished in their short lives. It wasn't right.

She sighed and sank to her knees in the plush carpet. Palms flat on the ground, she spread her fingers until they disappeared in the material. Everything about this room was designed to force her guards down. The aromas, the gentle lighting, the silky and lavish fabrics. The young ones wouldn't have the pleasure to grow weary of it all before this too was stripped from them on the night of the blood moon. She tangled her long, dark fingers in the tufts, squeezing her hand shut into a fist. If she'd enough strength, there would be nothing but subfloors on the ground when she was done ripping chunks of it out. Instead, she sat there, tugging futilely at the carpet until her knuckles began to ache and turn white from lack of blood.

"There has to be another way," Nnandi muttered, releasing the rug.

"What did we do before selecting our weakest to massacre?" The question hung heavy in the air, unanswered from previous generations. No one in the coven liked to elaborate on what kept them safe during those dark times. No clue as to how the Ariete managed to consistently stay on top during battles, debates, and court hearings without slaughtering their own.

They wanted everyone to believe that the bloodletting was always a part of the coven's history. But Nnandi recalled her early lessons in coven history. Tales and tomes containing the lost and old practices of the first Elders, and an old book in the Valda Library in the Manor.