“How far has it burned through?”
“It was weird,” I bring my torch closer too, “it stopped assoon as it hit that black stone. And then there was a puff of smoke.”
Luna’s head slowly raises, her gaze meeting mine. “You’re saying the raven stone stopped it?”
“Not just stopped it—disintegrated it.What’s raven stone?”
She returns her attention back to the hole, her torch causing it to gleam in the light. “Interesting. Raven stone is a very powerful protection stone. It’s almost indestructible and is used to cast runes. I never knew that it could work on venom like it would against magic. But that explains how they were able to use magic in here. The venom wouldn’t negate it.”
“How do you know all this?”
“Know what?” She purses her lips and avoids my eyes.
“The language, that was one of the first dialects of Ireland. And the things you said about crystals and magic?”
I study her closely. There’s an aura around her. Yes, she’s much older than anyone I know, but she’s also different in a way I can’t quite put my finger on.
Luna sighs and turns from the hole, heading back towards the table. The white strands of her hair ripple as she walks, but the rest of her seems to float above the ground.
“I wasn’t born a Valkyrie. I was made.” She carefully picks up an empty crystal vile, and studies it. I smirk. So much for not touching things.
But her words eventually register.Made?Like how the original Valkyries were?
“What—what were you before?” I hesitantly ask, standing beside her.
“My sister and I were sorceresses.” Those words are the first soft things I’ve heard come from her mouth.
“A sorceress? Like a witch?”
The gray of her eyes blaze brighter than the torch flames. “Exactly. Just like the ones who wrote that prophecy on the table.”
I swallow down the questions that threaten to fly from my mouth.
A chuckle bubbles up from Luna. And it’s lovely. It softens her features, making her look, well—human.
“Ask away girl. I know you want to.” She sets the crystal down and lifts up the cover of a book with the tip of her smallest finger. She traces the title page with a long nail before she drops the cover back. A look of disgust snarling her lips.
“How old are you?”
“Centuries. Next?” she sighs, looking disappointed at my first question.
“Where were you born?”
She taps a pointed nail delicately on the end of her chin. “I think you called it Ireland now. But we called it something else …”
“Eire.” The name slips from my lips, and Luna whirls towards me.
“You know the olde names?” She asks, surprise raising her brows.
“My mother raised me on them.”
For the first time since I’ve met her, the real her, a genuine smile spreads across her face. And she’s devastating. Like an ethereal goddess, come to life before me.
“I always liked your mother.”
Her words have an answering smile blooming on my face.
“Did you know her well?” Suddenly, all my questions about witches, ancient lands, and practices of long ago are replaced by questions of my own history.
