Spin Me Sweet Tales

Chapter Eight

I shiver when I think of Lahesia's black-painted grin and the power at her fingertips.

"What about the other covens?" I ask, and Khaivya's short-lived smile falls.

"The other covens are a dying race, I'm afraid, but they still exist. Bamberg coven is the eldest coven, which sprouted the first witch in Oraxto's eighth year. They have the power of enchantment. With any physical item, they can imbue it with power like magic restrictions, magic enhancers, invisibility, strength, and anything they desire. Most enchanters' magic is white, but their nobility has gray magic, and their matron has black."

Khaivya steps in front of the mirror, and with a materialized wet cloth in her hand, she gingerly removes my wedding makeup. "Why are they dying?" I ask.

She continues. "Because a witch betrayed the other covens, and now all covens except for mine are enslaved, on the run, or dead." Khaivya will not look at me as she continues. "Next, there is the Tituban coven. They have always been the smallest coven, but they are the deadliest. They are the cursers, and while they have been a dying race for a long time, they can curse any person, farmland, or world. With their words, they are deadlier than any weapon, but they've struggled with conceiving children for eons and it caught up with them. Currently, there's only eight alive in the world, and most of them are slaves to powerful rulers. They no longer have any low-level witches alive, so there's only two types of colored magic in their coven. Red for their matron and light orange for their nobility."

"That's terrible," I murmur, more to myself than her, but Khaivya nods her head and agrees.

"Last, there is the Melas coven. They are seers, and they can see the future. Their low-level witches, with eyes that burn silver when they see the future, can only see a day or two ahead. The noble witches, with eyes that burn a light shade of purple when they use their sight, can see weeks into the future. Sometimes, months. But their matron can see years, decades, and an extremely powerful matron can see centuries into the future. Her eyes turn dark purple when she uses her powers."

Khaivya steps away from me, assessing me before frowning and saying. "I must but you in a negligee now, your highness. I know you don't want to, but I have no choice."

Her sympathy isn't a lie, I realize. She doesn't show me kindness as a ploy to trick me, but she is honest. Khaivya does not stand in front of me with chains, but she is a prisoner to circumstances like I am. I can hear her heartache as she speaks about the dying race of the other wiccan covens, and I can see the sadness for a world she no longer recognizes.

I willingly stand to my feet. "I'll put on the negligee, but can you please continue telling me stories?" There's a sad smile on my face when I admit. "It helps distract me."

"Of course, your highness."

I slide into a sheer purple negligee that leaves little to the imagination without complaint. Lace and silk decorate the attire, which stops halfway down my thigh and is held up by two small spaghetti straps. My arms wrap around my chest, concealing the overflow, but Khaivya stays true to her promise. She doesn't stop talking about this world, the witches from each coven, and the rich history of her people.

"When my nani was the matron of the Daayan coven," Khaivya says with a warm smile as I hide myself beneath the covers. "She was the most powerful witch in our history. My nani could create monsters as high as the sky. She could create earthquakes that would splinter the ground in half, and sometimes those mighty forces would become real."

"You sound like you miss her a lot," I say.

Her smile falters. "Every day," she admits.