Page 134 of Black Sea

The Queen of the Witches shared a tense glance with my father, who then gave a slight nod to allow her to proceed.

She moved to the top steps, her expression harder than granite. The magic of her ancestors, flowing through her, imbued her with an aura so powerful that she seemed indestructible. Her flat nose’s nostrils flared as she took a deep breath, clasping her hands on her lap.

“Are you absolutely certain,” she began in a stern tone, “that Mornon the Abomination is the mate the elven Spirits have chosen for you?”

Hearing Mornon and mate in the same sentence made my skin crawl. And at the same time, it inflamed me. Trying to keep my voice flat, I answered, “Yes, I am.”

“Why?”

I glared at her. “I feel it in my soul,” I retorted.

But she couldn’t understand what it meant. Witches carried love in their hearts, like humans, and could only enjoy it during their few years of life. The elves, on the other hand, bound their essence to their mates so they would become one and remain together even in Rest.

Her eerie, round eyes scanned me from head to toe. I sensed her power sound me out, and the evil within me bared its teeth like a beast.

“The enemy is inside your body,” the witch said with bewilderment. “Even at this distance, we can catch its putrid blood coursing through your veins, more impetuous than the sea.” Her full lip curled in disgust, accompanied by the indignant buzzing of the elderly witches. “How is this possible?”

“He . . .” I remembered him towering behind me in Master Roxior’s thermal bath, squeezing my breast tightly with his big hand while the fingers of his other hand slid between the lips of my sex. “He did it when we were in the Lands of the West. He . . .” I recalled licking the cut in his palm, brutally pressed against my mouth, and swallowing that thick, hot, copious liquid as if it were divine nectar, craving more and more. “He poured his blood into me. And . . .” I remembered him absorbing all my light with every grasp, every kiss, every bite. “And he took mine inside himself. I . . .” I saw myself lost in his magnetic gaze and existing only for him, at the mercy of every new sensation he made me feel. “I never sensed it because we elves lose all supernatural abilities once outside the Lands of the East.”

The sovereign gave me a shrewd look. “Are you sure, Your Highness?”

“Are you calling me a liar, witch?” I growled between my teeth, in a too feral voice.

A voice that was not mine.

A voice that seemed to regurgitate shadows and flames.

Gasps and murmurs rose in the room as my parents and Araton stared at me, their expressions nothing short of shocked.

I wished to apologize to Queen Aloiv for speaking to her disrespectfully, but I felt as though an invisible muzzle was silencing me.

The woman looked at me as if she had just confirmed a theory. “We’re afraid you let him do it.”

“How dare you even imply it . . .” I hissed, taking a menacing step toward the stairs.

“And we think,” she continued emphatically, “that you are under a powerful spell cast by the Abomination, leading you to believe he is your mate.”

I had to dig my fingernails into my palms until I felt small pangs of pain, restraining myself from doing anything rash. “There is no ongoing spell on me,” I declared with ostentatious control. “I would sense it.”

“Would you?”

I thought back to the fact that I should have felt Mornon’s darkness wandering within me once I re-entered the boundaries of the Lands of the East. I should have felt the black magic that was concealing my contagion. Instead, all I felt was the intensification of my desire for Amlach.

The Queen of the Witches was right, then.

I was unable to recognize the enemy’s influence over me. I was a puppet he could play with as and whenever he wanted.

I was at his total mercy.

And I couldn’t allow it.

Frozen and helpless, I looked at each member of my family, their pity almost bringing me to my knees.

“Your Highness.” Queen Aloiv lifted the purple skirt of her dress, its blue highlights catching the light as she descended the steps and stood before me, a trace of compassion in her unyielding expression. “That filthy creature’s power is beyond our wildest imagination. We must understand how strong his hold on you is before deciding how to act to protect the Crystal and all of us.” She extended her hands to me, palms up. “Let us in.”

Darkness seethed in my veins like volcanic lava. I struggled to ignore the anger radiating within me, and, almost as if I were making an immense effort, I placed my hands on the woman’s. They were soft, slightly wrinkled, and a bit slippery, as if she had anointed them with spiced oil.

When she squeezed my hands, her eyes rolled back, revealing only the sclera, starkly white against her ebony skin. The same thing happened to the elderly witches, who later tilted their heads back, like their queen, and began chanting in their ancient language.