3 Chapter 3: Round 2 (1/2)

SALEM: It was simple: if approaching Elina as a witch hunter would lead to one of us dying, then I couldn't approach her as a witch hunter. I had to think different, mix things up, improvise.

I touched the rune. It glowed. A beat of warmth. Hundreds of other runes lit up in the forest, the inscriptions around them pulsing. Shining. The chain of runes led deep into the woods.

But I didn't follow.

Why go to her when she'll come to me?

I took out my knife.

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Footsteps in the forest. The sound of branches crunching under the weight of urgency. Someone running between the trees. Someone closing in.

I lay next to my cart, more forehead bleeding. I thought about stabbing myself in the gut to make things look more convincing, but then decided against it. What if Elina wasn't home? Then I'd be lying there with a fatal wound, bleeding out like an idiot.

So I made a cut on my forehead. Blood gushed out like a waterfall above my face. I felt a little dizzy, a little weak, but I've survived worse.

I cried out. ”Help! Somebody help!”

The footsteps grew louder. She was close. Very close.

I summoned my loudest cry. ”Is somebody there?! Please help me! Oh, Word of Light! Somebody save me.”

The footsteps cleared the forest. Someone stepped onto the path. Someone came around the cart.

She appeared before me. I forgot to breathe.

Drops of sunlight fell through the gaps in the roof of leaves, falling onto her silver hair, creating a cascade of stars. She had her hands behind her back. She looked down at me. Her eyes were curious. She tilted her head.

I froze with fear.

Every witch hunter knew that the strength of a witch's magic depended on the color of her eyes. The darker her eyes, the weaker her magic. Which meant that if her eyes were translucent then she'd be the same as a God. Something to do with the purity of their magic affected the eye color.

I looked up at Elina. Her eyes were clear silver. Like a lake under the moonlight. Shimmering, shining with tiny quivers on the surface.

Signing that contract was a mistake. I should have suspected something. Eighty-five gold when the standard price is between forty to fifty.

Silver eyes: it'd take an army to bring her down. Capture her alive? Impossible.

I've been sent on a suicide mission.

She said, ”Who are you? Why are you bleeding?”

Her eyes gazed at me. A whisper of wind snuck past her: the sweet scent of a woman laced with magic.