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She crossed the room, one alight with a hundred candles, to cages stacked together. Breen saw young deer, rabbits, goats, lambs, and, to her horror, a child. A human child, she realized as Yseult pulled the little boy, no more than three, out.
He didn’t cry or fight, but simply stared with blank eyes. Bespelled, she realized, her heart breaking. Then her heart stopping as Yseult picked up an athame.
She drew it across the boy’s palm, a deep gash where scars from other cuts marred the young skin. The blood spilled into the bowl. Then she turned the child so his tears followed it.
As she might have with a jar of herbs, Yseult put the child back in the cage.
She chose a bird next, sliced it open to take out the heart. She added it to the bowl.
She gathered other ingredients: belladonna, black crystals, wolfsbane, three small teeth, sharp as razors.
When she lifted her arms, Breen heard her gasp in pain. She had to bend over, sheet pale, to catch her breath.
Her eyes went black as onyx as she straightened again.
“You’ll pay and pay and pay, mongrel bitch.”
Face stony now, she lifted her arms again.
“Gods of the dark and damned, hear me! Grant me, servant of Odran, your strength. Imbue me with your power, black and terrible.This brew I make, her will to take. Daughter of the son of the god unholy I strike with the potion I make this night.
“Blood and tears from a human child, heart of a sparrow trapped in the wild, teeth from a demon pup to snap and bite, dark crystals ground to dim her light. Herbs to choke away her breath and take her to the edge of death. Milk from the snake with twin heads brings sleep, but with this spell the pain runs deep.
“Now fire burn, now smoke rise. Bubble and boil and swirl and stir. And with this turn, all light dies. This will be the end of her.”
As she stood in the smoke that clouded the room, the gray in her hair began to fade. And the pain that had rippled over her face turned to power.
“For Odran’s glory and in Odran’s name this spell is done, and be damned to the daughter of the son. With her end we ride to victory. As we will, so mote it be.”
Breathless now as the smoke thinned, Yseult braced a hand on her worktable. But in her eyes lived a terrible kind of joy.
“What a terrible stench!”
She whirled at the voice, threw up a hand. “Stay back, stay clear of the smoke.”
Shana stood in a doorway, sleek and glowing in a gold gown. Her silvery blond hair fell in intricate curls, scooped back to highlight the fat rubies at her ears.
“I go where I please, witch. Mind your tone with me, or Odran will punish you. Again. You’re weak, and barely any use.”
Smiling, Shana toyed with one of her curls. “He’ll torture you if I ask him to. You failed him. I did not.”
She took another step in, and Yseult pushed at the air to hold her back. When fury erupted, Shana hissed like the snake.
“You dare.”
“I dare to protect the child in you. Odran’s child. The smoke is toxic, and while it may do you no harm, it may harm the child. He shares blood with Breen O’Ceallaigh.”
Now Yseult smiled. “If you bring harm to the child, Odran will be displeased with you.”
Shana shrugged but stepped back. “We can always make another. I’ve proven fertile, which is more than you.”
“You silly creature. I gave him three, three he drained for power as he will what’s in you. And with their power, and with their blood, he moved through the portal to make the child with Mairghread, and again through to take the Daughter. I have cleared the path for him, year by year.”
“Only to fail him, year by year.” Shana merely waved a hand, glittering with rings. “I will not, and will rule beside him after he turns Talamh to ash. But for now, I have a task for you. I don’t wish to look fat and waddle about while Odran’s son grows in me. You’ll do a spell so I won’t.”
“It will be illusion only. Any more could harm the child.”
“Then do that!” Shana snapped. “And be quick about it.”
