Winter of the Wicked: The Sisters Solstice Book II

Works by JL Vampa The Queen’s Keeper Secrets of a Nomad Ghost Exquisite Poison Anthology: One Pirouette Stolen Magick, May 9, 2023 The Sisters Solstice Series Autumn of the Grimoire Winter of the Wicked Spring of Ruin, forthcoming This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Copyright © 2023 by J.L. Vampa All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Phantom House Press. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review. For more information, address: [email protected]. First edition February 2023 Cover Photography by J.L. Vampa — www.jlvampa.com Instagram: @jlvampa Cover design by Franziska Stern — www.coverdungeon.com Instagram: @coverdungeonrabbit Hardcover ISBN 979-8-9859261-9-4 Paperback ISBN 979-8-9859261-8-7 Ebook ISBN B0BQ1PN3XW www.phantomhousepress.com For all the sacrifices you’ve made along the way. And for all the times you thought you couldn’t, but did. For Kayleigh, my forever and always Sisters Solstice Playlist Autumn of the Grimoire Winter of the Wicked Aggie Grimm Winnie Laurent Contents Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 From the Author Acknowledgments Prologue TWO HUNDRED AND EIGHTY YEARS AGO BEGINNING OF THE WITCH TRIALS “What say you to these claims, Magus Proctor?” The magus ground his teeth together, hands behind his back and shrewd eyes levelled on the council of elders before him. His council. The land had descended into madness since the denunciation of sorcery by Grand Magus Delacour. The magi hadn’t openly practised in fifty years, sending the common witches and warlocks skittering into hiding. Over the past moon, the elders of his own council had begun trying and hanging anyone they suspected of practising witchcraft. The Witch Trials had finally come to Hiverterre. “I say you have all gone mad if you believe Hester Perrault to be the horrid creature you’ve just described, capable of flaying flesh with sorcery.” Jéan slammed a fist down on the table in front of him, a jolt coursing through his defendant and the council of elders, as he’d intended. “Did she not deliver your babes? Nurse your wives and your children back from the brink of death after the plague? Was she not in the fields, bent over with the rest of us at the harvest?” He leaned forward, wood groaning beneath his weight. “Is her door not always open to anyone who might need her?” A hush permeated the dimly lit room after his words, dust swirling lazily in the sun’s lone ray through the window. Magus Jéan Proctor craved, not for the first time, an iota of sorcery to discern the thoughts of the men before him. Alas, it was only the woman at his side—the one he stood risking everything for—who possessed magic, and it was none of that kind. Time dragged on like the perpetual afterlife of a ghost before the new leader of the council bent his head toward the men on either side of him. Jéan swallowed down a manic laugh. In days not so distant past, he had been the one to whom the council deferred. But that was before they caught Hester in his home. Before they saw her press her palm against his bare chest. In their attempt to reconcile what they’d seen, the men claimed Jéan’s body had been alive with boils until Hester touched it. Foul beast! they’d cried, bursting in and seizing her under the charge of performing witchcraft to heal him. These atrocious excuses for men had no idea what they’d really borne witness to. Though, Hester’s punishment for bedding a magus would be only slightly less severe than that for being a witch. Their land had truly descended into utter delirium. Jéan shifted on his feet, not daring a look in Hester’s direction. He felt her resilience, strong and steadfast, from where she sat next to him in the shabby courtroom of their Nordern coastal town. Hester would not flinch. But Jéan loathed what came next, regardless of the council’s ruling. “We will make our decision by nightfall.” The council stood as one, black robes billowing as they left, sand blowing in amidst their haste. The crowd of their recent friends-turned-foes dispersed, whispering to one another as they glared at the magus and Hester. Jéan fled silently to his home, the wind off the Sacrée Mountains howling at his back, and the spray of Mer Noir in tumult assaulting his face. It was there in his seaside cottage that she found him, pacing. “Thank you, Jéan.” Her soft voice caressed him from the far side of the room and he closed his eyes. “I did not lie to them.” Jéan faced her, unable to contain the trepidation crawling up his body like wiry arachnids. “Not once.” “I did not accuse you of any such thing.” Her even temper lit fury in him. She should have been terrified. Indignant. But Hester simply stood, immovable as a mountain, arms crossed and one finger tapping against her arm as if she were simply perturbed by a mere inconvenience in her preternaturally long life. “There is nothing more I can do for you,” he spat, knowing his tone was uncalled for. But it would make this easier. “Even if they find you innocent, you will still be a pariah in their sight. You must leave here.” Hurt flashed across her face and he almost took it back. Almost. “I must leave here? Jéan, we’re building a life here. If I must go, we go