CHAPTER 11
Brygida had been waiting for a sign, and it had appeared, bold as a raven.
Although he raised an eyebrow, Kaspian left her to her solitude. It was time to enter her witchlands once more and warn her mothers about the Cult of Weles.
She stepped toward the boundary between worlds, but the toe of her boot met a wall like invisible stone. She staggered, her body colliding with the barrier, then fell back, landing hard on her bottom.
Her home rejected her with a message as plain as day: Unwelcome.
She rubbed her sore knee, although it didn’t hurt nearly as much as the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.
She laid her hand on the Perun-struck oak beside her, trying to hear the faintest whisper of the voices of the wood. Just one word, a single flicker of the connection she
