Estella Valehollow's Arc

Chapter 4 of 11

Estella reached the ridge above the cottage by dusk. Warm light still spilled from every window. She stepped forward and her boot struck something unseen. The air shimmered. A thin wall of cold pressed back against her palm. She knew the feel of it at once. A ward. Someone had set it here, and recently. Her old sisters had reached him first. The coven was shielding Adrian. She knelt and brushed the snow aside. A heavy iron disk lay half-buried in the frozen ground, carved with sigils she had learned as a girl. Her sisters' work. A warning, too. They knew she was coming. Estella pressed both palms to the iron and spoke the word that had burned the tree. The sigils flared white, then black, then split. The disk cracked from edge to edge. The cold wall fell away with a soft hiss. She stood and looked down at the lit windows. The ward was broken, but now they knew it. Inside the cottage, a child laughed. Somewhere far behind her, a black bird took wing. She turned at a glow off to her left. Past a stand of pines, tents huddled in a small hollow. Purple cloth. Painted stars. Lanterns swinging from poles. A camp her sisters had pitched to guard him. No one stood at watch yet, but smoke curled from a fire pit. They had been here days. They would be here in minutes. Estella drew her hood up and stepped back into the trees. The cottage windows still burned behind her, untouched. She had broken their shield and lost her chance to strike tonight. The hunt had become a war on two sides, and the coven was already at his door. She crouched low and waited. A figure ran from the tents toward the cottage door, a sealed letter in one gloved hand. The wax seal caught the lantern light, red as a wound. Estella watched the messenger knock. The door cracked open. Adrian stood in the gap, his face pale, the warm light behind him. He took the letter. He read it. He looked up at the ridge, straight at the dark where she hid, and his mouth went tight. He knew her name now. He knew she was close. The door shut hard. Lamps inside began to go out, one by one, not by her hand but his. Estella stayed in the trees, breath steady, and let the cold settle in her chest. She had wanted to take the lights. He had taken them first. Tomorrow she would not come as a shadow. Tomorrow she would come as the storm.