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Xanthia’s eyes went wide. “How did you know that?” Then her gaze dropped to the mark on Jessie’s hand. The light in her palm fizzled as something resembling fear bloomed behind her eyes. “Is that the mark of Rathmort?”
Jessie pointlessly hid her hand behind her back. “Is that his name?”
Xanthia took a step back, that fear obviously growing. Her aura roiled with it. “Are you of his coven?”
Jessie stood and put her palms up in a halting gesture “No, no. I’m not.”
Xanthia glanced around, as though expecting an ambush.
“Wait. Just wait. Let me explain.”
In the distance, rushing boots clopped the ground. Frenetic voices at the end of the corridor sent Xanthia darting in the opposite direction.
24
Orik glared out over the coven of twelve. Nine men and three females, all dressed in fur and leather. No visible weapons, but then, their weapon of choice was magic. Which meant each one presented a potential threat. The group gazed up at the royals on their stately thrones. June sat to Tristan’s right, Edel to his left. The three royals were flanked by Orik and Rayu. Dozens of guards lined the walls, fully armed with blasters, swords, and axes.
One of the coven males stepped forward to greet Tristan, signaling himself as the leader. He had long, dark hair, closely sheared at the sides and swept back. He gave a half bow that held a hint of obstinance. “My name is Fabian, Your Highness. Is this show of force necessary?” He had a tinny voice and beady eyes that methodically swept the room. Orik got the impression he was counting guards. “We’ve been assured that you welcome diplomacy between our camps. Am I wrong?”
“You are no’ wrong, Fabian,” Tristan replied. “But I’m afraid this is how it must be until we can establish trust between us. I understand you seek to settle near Windguard.”
Orik didn’t like the grin that curled one corner of Fabian’s lips. “You reign over a bountiful forest, one rich in resources. Any coven would be blessed to settle here. I wonder if you’re aware it used to be our ancestral home.
Tristan didn’t reply. Up until the last several hundred years, history had not been so precisely documented. Much of it was hearsay, eroded by time and countless retellings. It had been rumored, however, that this land was conquered and had originally belonged to a particularly vile coven of witches. But, if true, that would have been thousands of years ago. Dragons had claimed this land since then.
Fabian glanced back at his coven. “It was a haven for witches long ago. A sacred place where covens would gather to celebrate harvests and the solstice.”
Tristan shared a look with Orik and he knew they were thinking the same thing. These witches might prove hostile. As Orik furtively signaled to his guards to prepare for the worst, Tristan faced Fabian. “I would like for our people to live peacefully.”
Fabian grinned widely then, but malice poured from his eyes. “Then why do I sense your people are preparing for war? Just as well, I suppose. We were beginning to think this would be too easy.”
Everything seemed to happen at once. Time slowed to a distorted crawl. Every witch gathered power, and a volley of violent magic exploded into the room. The malevolent current was headed straight for the King.
Orik threw himself in front of Tristan, taking the blast full force. Pain radiated over his torso, flaring out over the rest of his body, and he was forced to one knee.
The circle of soldiers lunged into the fray, drawing their prospective weapons. Blasters fired. Swords and axes swung. Many soldiers dropped before meeting their targets.
A bubble of power exploded from the coven of witches, seeming to protect them from harm, at least from the blasters, but it was no match for metal. Using their swords and axes, soldiers broke through the barrier and plunged their blades through the witches’ treacherous flesh and bone. Some shifted to their dragon forms, scooping up adversaries in their jaws and thrashing them about. Cries rang out on both sides, magic swirling as the witches re-doubled their attack. Caustic sounds of war echoed off the throne room’s blood-splattered walls.
Rayu had taken up position in front of Orik, acting as another shield. “Rayu!” Orik hollered over the din, his vision blurring as his body went numb. “Get the royals to safety.”
“Like hell,” Tristan sneered, coming up beside Rayu as Edel pulled a sword from a sheath expertly hidden in a fold of her skirt. She knelt down to assess his wound. He wanted to tell her to leave him be, he was fine, the pain had receded, but there was something wrong with his tongue. Why was he lookingupat her? Why did she look so concerned? Why was he having trouble focusing on her face.
Mother?
The last thing he saw was her baring her teeth at some unseen foe and gripping her sword tighter in her fist. Then a black tunnel took her away from him.
* * *
Adrenaline surged like a rocket in Jessie’s chest as the boots marched toward her cell. Something was happening. Something big.
Had they passed judgment on the witch? Was she to be burned? Her stomach roiled at the thought. Where had Xanthia gone?
A voice with a masculine timbre muttered, “Yes, My Queen, she’s this way.”
June! Had June heard of her imprisonment? Had she come to pardon her?
Jessie leapt up to grip the bars, only to be confronted with the stern face of the Queen Mother. Her blond hair was frazzled, and her gown appeared to have been ravaged…and was that blood on her cheek?
