The cloaked figure simply raises her hands and begins to chant. As she does, slashes appear on the robes of the white witches, and they scream when their flesh suffers the same fate. She keeps at it till their bodies are battered and they, too, fall to the ground, dead.
The Black Arrows come to stand in front of me protectively. The woman is between us and the witches, her back to us. She removes the hood of her cloak now, her voice soft. “You have nothing to fear from me, King of the Wolves.”
She turns around to face me. She has silver hair and purple eyes, and her features are youthful and exquisite.
I go still. “You’re a dark witch.”
Part of me had already figured it out when I saw her slashing at the white witches with her magic, but seeing her features confirms it. A majority of t
