The Winter Witch Read online

  To all the witches who never stopped believing, and to all the witches who are just now starting to believe again. We see you.

  ~Lux & Heather

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  http://KarpovKinrade.com

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  Copyright © 2019 Karpov Kinrade & Heather Hildenbrand

  Cover Art Copyright © 2019 Karpov Kinrade

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  Published by Daring Books

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  First Edition

  ISBN: 978-1-939559-64-7

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  Book License Notes

  You may not use, reproduce or transmit in any manner, any part of this book without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations used in critical articles and reviews, or in accordance with federal Fair Use laws. All rights are reserved.

  This Book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only; it may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return to your Book retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Disclaimer

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination, or the author has used them fictitiously.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10—Epilogue

  Mad Girl: Locked Up Prologue

  About Karpov Kinrade

  About Heather Hildenbrand

  Also by Karpov Kinrade

  Also by Heather Hildenbrand

  Chapter 1

  A wisp of light pierces the darkness, the candle flickering bravely against the penetrating night, and then, in a blink, thousands of flames join the first, illuminating the ancient forest in which we are gathered.

  Our matriarch stands before the largest Sophos Tree in our village, her arms outstretched, the long white robe she wears blending into the white bark of the tree and the winter snow that blankets our world. Her voice is melodic and firm. "Each light, alone, is nothing. But together, we can outshine the sun."

  The villagers chant back, repeating her words.

  I'm kneeled before her in my own white cloak, my long dark hair undone and trailing down my back in soft curls. The cold bite of our never-ending winter nips at my ears and nose, and I sniff as quietly as I can and pray to the goddess I do not sneeze and ruin the ceremony.

  "Tonight, we baptize Adara Alexander with the sacred waters of the Ice Rivers. Adara is the flame born in the cold, the defender of humankind, sent to free us from the curse that plagues our land and our people. A Winter Witch, the first to be born in our village in over a thousand years, and the strongest we have ever seen. Our prayers to the goddess have been answered. We have been sent a savior. May the goddess bless Adara," she says.

  "May the goddess bless Adara," the villagers respond.

  I look towards the ground, focusing my attention on the crust of snow forming over the forest mulch, and she pours the pitcher of ice water over my head. I force myself not to shiver as my hair instantly freezes.

  "May the goddess guide her path," she says.

  The villagers once again repeat her litany, a chorus of voices adding their magic to the words spoken each year over a new sacrifice.

  But this year the words are different.

  This year, I'm the difference.

  Normally, the chosen one would be selected by lottery. There isn't a family in Willowdale who hasn't lost someone to this annual slaughter. But this year, we all knew I would be the one to go. I came of age last month, just in time to be offered.

  But I am not being sent to die like the others.

  I'm being sent to kill.

  I’ve known it my whole life. Trained. Studied. Prepared. And now it is time.

  As she completes the ceremony, I stand to face her, and she pulls me into a hug, kissing both my wet cheeks. "Carry the flames of the sun in your heart, my sweet granddaughter. And come home to me."

  Tears sting my eyes as my grandmother releases me and turns me to face our clan. "Tonight, we celebrate the Festival of Lights. Drink, Eat and Be Merry, good people. Our fates will soon turn toward the better. I have spoken."

  The crowd cheers, and as I help my grandmother slip her thick cloak over her frail shoulders, someone begins playing a fiddle. I toss my own cloak on, wrapping my wet hair and tucking it away. Then I smile as everyone begins singing the familiar folk song as they make their way back to town.

  The candles lit

  Darkness outwit

  We sing to usher in the dawn

  The sun will rise

  As winter dies

  We sing until the snow is gone

  Ho Ho Halliho the light

  No No Nevermore the night

  Ho Ho Halliho the dawn

  No No Winter now be gone

  After the first round, harmonies are added and the melodic refrains echoes throughout town, which tonight is decked out with tables laden with food and wine. There will be dancing, entertainment, and all manner of revelry that lasts until morning.

  It's normally my favorite night of the year. Even as a child I was allowed to stay up all night, eat whatever I wanted and run wild with the magic of the evening.

  But tonight, I will partake of very little, as I need my sleep before my treacherous journey tomorrow. Always, I’ve wondered what it would be like to be on the other side of the merriment. To be the sacrifice, celebrated in glory for one night, only to die the next. Now I know. It is a somber thing even if I’m not going to my death.

  My grandmother takes my arm, and we walk slowly together, trailing the others and enjoying the stillness of the cool winter night.

  "What if I fail?" I ask, the fear weighing heavy on my soul.

  I clutch at the vial that hangs around my neck and feel the warmth of it to the depths of my soul. I have collected a drop of blood from every villager and mixed it with the sap of the Sophos Tree and a crushed petal of a Fire Flower. Legend has it these bold red beauties were a summer flower before the curse, yet they continue to dot the snowy landscape of the mountains to the west even still, and are a symbol of the enduring persistence of hope. The last ingredient was my magic, infused into it over the course of a full moon cycle using a spell I created over many years; the most complicated one I've ever performed. It is now ready, and so am I.

  At least, I hope I am.

  "You will not fail," my grandmother says softly, her lilting voice a comfort as it has been all my life. "You have the sun's fire in your heart. It will guide you."

  We walk the rest of the way in companionable silence, the sound of music and laughter spilling out from the village square, audible even from this distance.

  A symphony of night birds sings from the highest branches of the trees, sharing their secrets with one another. What do you see, little birds? I wonder, glancing up into the canopy that shines with moonbeams and twinkles with starlight. What do you hear? And not for the first time I wonder, what will it be like to see the snow melt and
the ice crack and then disappear, to see fresh flowers and leaves exposed to the sunlight, glowing in color, iridescent in their brilliance? What will it be like to feel warm from head to toe, without the aid of fire? How will our lives change when we can plow and farm and forage again? When we can support ourselves and use trade for mutual gain rather than survival?

  Our entire culture and way of life is oriented around winter, cold, snow. If I do succeed, our village—our whole kingdom—will need to adapt to entirely new lives. We've, of course, heard the stories of summers and autumns and springs in other lands, but those who venture from our village never return. And many of the elders fear an unspoken rule that we are not meant to leave. Few have dared to try since, and so we live on stories and hope.

  The year I was born, when it was clear I had magic of my own, the village began preparing for spring. They purchased seeds and wove lighter fabrics for new clothing. They made maps of the best lands for farming, raising cattle, and building on. They gave everything to the hope—the belief—that I would be their savior. Thus, my name. Adara means fire. Alexander is defender of human kind.

  It's a big name to live up to, but the moment I was old enough, I began to study the books kept in a locked library and guarded by my family for generations. Books left by the old ones who had magic running in their veins. Books that taught me everything I know about magic.

  My bag for tomorrow is already packed. I have a change of clothes, dried meats and fruits, wine, hard bread, and cheese. And I have my herbs, my potions, and my Grimoire. I would never leave home without them, despite taking up valuable space in my pack.

  There is nothing for me to do but wait out the night. Still, I must eat, and as we enter the town, the thatched roofs shimmering under the moonlight, the villagers dressed in their most colorful cloaks and scarves, fire pits burning at every corner for light and warmth, it all invites me in, to dine, to smile, to laugh, to enjoy one more night with the people who have bound my heartstrings to them.

  As people mill about, my grandmother pulls away to make her rounds and many stop to chat with me, to ask me how I am, to offer me words of support or gratitude.

  Conversations about the curse float around me as people share stories they heard from long-dead relatives.

  "I hear he sucks the blood from his victims to stay alive," the baker says, shaking his head.

  "He is a vampire of old, though they were thought to be long dead," the librarian says. "But thousands of years ago, the wicked prince was cursed with this ancient demon, and now he walks the nights devouring the souls of his victims along with their blood."

  I shiver and move away from that group. I don't need more horror stories filling my head. I've got enough of my own to keep my imagination active.

  While many continue to greet me, none stay and chat. I'm a bit of an oddity in the village.

  I had a different upbringing than others. While most kids went to the small schoolhouse and studied together, I was tutored in private, by my grandmother and others, for the one job I would have in this life.

  Now I smile as my combat instructor approaches. She is tall and lean with dark eyes, even darker skin, and is never without her bow and arrow, though she is just as deadly with a sword.

  "Adara, well wishes to you," she says in her thick eastern accent, holding out her forearm.

  I grasp it in the traditional greeting and nod. "Thank you, Kadere. I wouldn't be this prepared without your years of training."

  "You made a fine pupil," she says, then turns to leave.

  Kadere is from a kingdom to the east. She came here to train me for a season, then met a woman with whom she fell in love and never left. She's not one for words, but she's been a dear friend these many years.

  I watch as she joins her wife, their daughter spinning in circles laughing. The girl was an orphan whose father was killed by the beast on the mountain and whose mother died of heartbreak not a year later. Now she has a happy home, but that does not erase the blood debt the monster owes to my village.

  A tall, handsome young man rushes over to me carrying a plate of food and a goblet of wine, distracting me from my dark thoughts. "Adara, I was hoping you would come," he says, a blush rising on his cheeks.

  I've known Arthur since we were both crawling in mud with pigs. He hands me the plate and cup. "I thought you might be hungry," he says with a shy grin. "And thirsty," he adds quickly.

  "Thank you, I am." I sip the wine and try to sort out how to eat while holding both the cup and the plate. "Walk with me?" I ask as I tuck the plate into the same hand as the goblet so I can more easily pluck a chunk of honeyed ham from it.

  He falls into step beside me. "Are you scared?" he asks.

  "Yes," I say honestly.

  He raises an eyebrow in surprise. "I've never seen you scared before," he says.

  "Sure you have," I say, layering a bit of cheese and salami onto a cracker. "I get scared loads of times."

  "But you never seem it. You're always so sure of yourself."

  I shrug, licking my fingers and then dipping a strawberry into whipped buttercream. "I feel the fear, and I do it anyway. That's all you can ever do."

  He pauses, and we watch a group ice-skating on the lake under the bridge we stand on.

  "So that's what you're doing now? Feeling your fear but doing it anyways?"

  "Yes," I say, closing my eyes as I conjure up the thing that terrifies me the most and mentally stare it down.

  "I don't think I could do it," he says.

  I turn to him. "Do what?"

  He shivers. "Face the monster that killed my parents."

  A cold wind whips around me, and I stiffen my spine and look into the distance, toward the snowcapped Ice Mountains. "That's why I have to do it. He killed my parents. Now, I will kill him."

  Chapter 2

  The wind is cold and biting as I make my way through the pass. Behind me, swirls of snow obscure the path I’ve taken thus far. I long ago lost sight of Willowdale and the villagers that came to see me off. Friends and families I’ve known my whole life. All of their expressions were hopeful and desperate for me to succeed. I can’t blame them. We’ve suffered too long under the curse of the vampire prince. My people don’t deserve what fate has dealt them. I’m determined to end it once and for all.

  But more than any of them, the face I miss most is Grandmother's. If she were here, her quiet certainty would give me confidence—and strength. And I could use both right now.

  It was hard enough to put on a brave face in the relative safety of my village, but the further away I get from home, the more that fear coils around my heart.

  The journey is long, and I'm left with nothing but my thoughts. That and the growing fatigue in my body. The muscles in my legs burn from trekking through snowdrifts that only deepen the farther up I go, and my breathing is shallow, despite the years of training I've endured while other children were skipping rocks and climbing trees.

  I shift the pack on my back, hoping to alleviate the pressure on my aching shoulders. I'm second-guessing my choice to bring my Grimoire and magical tools, but I couldn't leave them. I'm about to face an immortal foe who feeds off my people and grows stronger each year. A little pain is worth the extra protection.

  In past years, those chosen have a few villagers who join them, at least to a point, to offer comfort, companionship and protection in their final days. This started when one sacrifice died before he made it to the prince, and that led to the slaughter of many, so now we are more careful.

  But my case is different, and so I was sent alone.

  I'm tempted to rest, but I can't stop. I don’t dare risk getting caught out in the storm that seems to be gathering over the top of the mountain. Already, the snow has drifted onto the path, making it hard to see anything but endless white.

  Directly above me, the prince's castle towers over everything. Spires wind up toward clouds that obscure the very tips. Somewhere inside the massive structure is the creature I will ki
ll.

  I have no idea how I’ll get him to drink the poisoned vial, but there’s time yet for that. At any rate, I have a much riskier back up plan. I pat the dagger at my hip as if for good luck. Coating this blade with the blood and stabbing him in the heart will be just as effective, though no less difficult to manage. Regardless, I won’t leave until he’s dead—and my people are free.

  By the time I reach the castle grounds, I’m breathless and sweating despite the cold. I pause to look up and take it in, and I’m stunned by the vastness of the estate. It truly is a castle made for a king. Though if rumors are true, the creature the prince has become will never be king. He gave up that right when he was cursed. Now, he's a monster of the worst sort. A beast.

  I trek onward, my breath puffing out in short bursts as I continue to climb toward the castle gate. Trees close in around me, their thick fir branches draped heavily in snow.

  My footsteps crunch loudly as I make my way under the canopy. The silence grows thick and the hairs on the back of my neck prickle with a sudden awareness.

  I am no longer alone.

  Glancing around, I see nothing beyond the shadows the trees cast.

  I continue slowly, listening, watching, every one of my senses on alert.

  Movement catches my eye, and I tense. My lips begin to move with the whispered words of a spell of protection, but I also pull out my dagger as backup. Before I can complete the charm, something leaps from the cover of trees.

  A huge white wolf, its lips pulled back in a feral growl, its canines aimed at my throat. No magic is fast enough to stop the inevitable.