Chapter Eleven
It began as a glittering black forest, creeping in icy fingers across the ceiling of the great hall. Scarcely noticeable; just a deepening chill and a darkening of the gloom. A slow blossoming at first, soon pitch hoarfrost raced down the walls and carpeted the stone floor, spreading in eerie fractals radiating an otherworldly cold.
Then the voices began. A babble of distant distress, they grew nearer, louder and more insistent. Frigid whispers emerged, the sort that echo through the bones and set the teeth on edge.
If the hoarfrost escaped the notice of the coven and its followers, the voices did not — especially when they began, as one, to scream. Jakub Vasilescu, barking orders to his coven and gesturing with Konrad’s expressive hands, broke off.
Olya, in Anichka’s fo
