Unlikely Romances

It wasn't a secret that there were relationships between witches in the clans. It wasn't that uncommon either, and no one really cared. The Blackbeak Matron had a lover in her own coven, and there were others that you would need both hands to count.

What was uncommon, however, was relationships - of any types - between different clans. The Ironteeth already didn't like each other, not to mention that they barely met. It was better that way - before they ended up ripping each other apart, much like the War Games had proved they would in a heartbeat. They were rivals, and it would always be that way.

So what surprised Manon is that she found herself waiting by Petrah Blueblood's bedside after those War Games, just hoping that she would wake up.

Maybe some part of Petrah really had been damaged when Iskra had given that order to kill, and Keelie had died on the rocks of the battlefield. The golden-eyed witch didn't blame Petrah for her pain, because she had a small feeling that she would feel the same way if her own wyvern, Abraxos, suddenly died.

It was the day after she had killed that Crochan prisoner, and even after the time she spent with Abraxos, she couldn't help but dwell on her words. Made you into monsters. Manon dwelled on it even more as she sat next to Petrah's barely breathing form, knowing that if her grandmother found out, she would be punished even more than she already had.

Manon looked down at the Blueblood witch. Her sparkling blue eyes were closed, and her deep golden hair framed her pale face like sunlight. The witch had to force herself away in order to prevent herself from running her fingers across her cheeks. She looked frail, and in her face etched deep sadness. It hurt Manon, in some unknown part of her.

Manon stood from the stool, hearing footsteps grow louder on the floor of which Petrah laid. With a small glance back, Manon Blackbeak left the chambers through the window and made her way back to Abraxos. She needed to think without the witch in front of her.

Manon wasn't sure whether to feel devastation, fear, fury, or nothing at all. She tried to feel the latter, but it was hard to with everything that had just been piled onto her. Her second for as long as she could remember was to be executed at sunrise tomorrow, and Petrah - Petrah - had defended her in that witch trial.

What would have happened if that tall, thin, beautiful witch with the hollow face hadn't defended her? Would she be the one dying that next sunrise? Or would Asterin not be the one dying? Manon didn't want to think of the idea that if Petrah had not interfered, her second would not be dying. But she knew deep down that it was her own damned decisions and mistakes that led to this.

She would give her Second a short end, because that was what Asterin deserved. When she knew that along with her own decisions, it was her Matron's hatred of Asterin that had led to this, too.

But now, Manon had cornered that same witch who had defended her, golden eyes seeming to spark with emotions she did well to keep hidden. It was only this close that Manon finally realised how her freckles stood out against her skin, how her golden hair had been brushed to a beautiful color again - so unlike when she laid in her room in the uppermost chambers of the Omega.

Manon wondered if Petrah knew that she had sat by her bedside for however many hours, the exact amount forgotten in her immortal mind. The witch found that she hoped that Petrah didn't know.

"Hello, Manon." Her blue eyes still held that fierceness and unfinished business that she had spoken to Iskra with, and it made Manon realise with a jolt that, no, Petrah did not have her head in the clouds. That Petrah was an Ironteeth witch, and that she probably only put on that facade to trick her rivals and enemies. It was smart, and deadly. And, Manon realised with hatred at herself, hot. "What brings you here?"