This Poisoned Tide: The Last Water Witch Book One

CHAPTER 5

Hope that Juda Vikaris would do what Roth had always wished he could: bring about the end of King Aldolus Ban-Keren's reign of darkness.

With his training, guidance and now, sponsorship to the Order itself, Vi-Garran's hope was an ever-burning ember, ready to catch flame once more and burn down this whole fucking citadel.

'I was busy,' Juda replied, ignoring the dry gaze of his guardian and heading straight for the bookshelf opposite, trailing his fingers along the spines of the tomes resting there. Dust gathered on the peaks of all but one – the same one Juda chose every time he visited. Tugging it free from the stack, he allowed himself a small curl of his lips, as his fingertips traced the worn gilded script on the tired, leather-bound cover. It was a children's story, and one that Roth often told him was full of nothing but ghosts and distractions, but Juda recalled the way in which his mother's mouth formed the words when she had read it aloud to him as a child. Remembered every inflection of her tone and how her eyes had widened dramatically with every tale of forest dragons and dark sorcery, making the young Juda giggle and shriek.

'Busy? That's all you have to say on the matter, boy?' Vi-Garran had never quite outgrown his usage of boy, despite Juda now reaching his twenty-fourth moon. Juda might have become a man himself, but sometimes Roth had to blink and clear his gaze, seeing the same angry, but ever-curious child standing in the exact same place Juda was now.

He removed his glasses and threw them down onto the desk, pinching the bridge of his nose and using his thumb to knead away the remnants of a headache that had bothered him since morntide.

'And pray tell, Juda, what kept you so busy that you couldn't be arsed to be punctual this time?'

'Lord Dageor,' came Juda's casual reply.

Roth stiffened, his eyes widening as he watched Juda saunter towards the armchair, his gaze not wavering from the open pages of the book, even as he sat down, hooking one leg over the arm and slouching into the cushions in a way Roth both hated and warmed to see in equal measure.

'Dageor? You're certain it was Dageor?'

When Juda gave a non-committal hum, Roth slapped his palm down hard on the desk, prompting Juda to finally drag his gaze from the book, dead-eyeing his guardian in a way Roth had seen too often lately, and had not cared for it either. It was a look he'd worn himself for far too long. A dullening of the eyes which he sometimes still saw in the mirror, even after so many years of being free of the Order.

There were some that would say, the only true freedom from the Order was death itself, for only then could you lay the ghosts to rest that haunted the backs of your eye sockets. Vi-Garran's ghosts didn't just live in his reflection. Their screams lingered in his ears. Their hands clawing for him as he stood and bathed in the small, circular iron tub, the Dreynian water at his feet turning to blood.

'Well, The Grim referred to him by name, so yes, I am certain.'

Roth ignored his ward's sarcasm. 'And what did he want with you?'

'He wanted nothing from me, although it appears I have piqued the priest's interest,' replied Juda, albeit with muchdisinterest, as his gaze was drawn back to the book. Next was the tale of the Naiad, when his mother would lower her voice to barely more than a whisper, telling Juda they had to be quiet, else the water witch would drag her scale-covered body from the Setalah and scratch at their windows with her poison-tipped talons.

'By the dead gods, Juda! Leave the fucking book and look at me!'

Juda closed the book without protest, resting his palm upon it as if some power still lingered in the leather binding, a connection with his mother that he could not dare to lose.