Page 69 of Wind and Water
“Never going to happen,” Wren says, giving the pool a wide berth when we round to the left side.
Seeming not to hear her, Ciaran closes his eyes and raises both his hands to shoulder level. The spell he casts is the darkest kind of magic. The words are ancient Elvish, but the dialect was banned due to its association with evil. These are the words forbidden for generations.
My ears ring from the bombardment of sounds not meant for my hearing. As my gut clenches, I hope I can hold down the meager food from earlier. This type of magic is perilous. Even without understanding the meaning of the words, my light magic recoils from the spell.
Wisdom dictates that I do nothing to provoke Ciaran until I have a way to get Wren out of this place safely. Threatening or bludgeoning him as I’d like to puts her in additional danger. If I’m killed, how will she get out? I can’t risk it. If I could, I’d have broken his arm when he touched her.
Waves form in the pool, and the center darkens.
“What in the name of all that is holy is that?” Wren grips my arm but drops her hands away a moment later.
As much as I want to be her safe place, we have to keep some distance between us, or our enemies will use it against us.
A figure grows and rises to the top. The thick fluid sluices away, revealing Venora Braddish. Her skin is taut and smooth. She looks young and healthy. Whatever she’s feeding from has added years back, leaving her looking like a twenty-year-old.
Without glancing at us, she steps naked from the pool. Her long black hair is slick against her pale skin and reaches nearly to her ass.
This is the first time I’ve ever seen the witch queen in person, though I’ve fought her minions all my adult life. Elves age slowly, but Venora is my mother’s age. They went to school together, yet she looks younger than I. The only hint that anything has changed in her over the last fifty suns is a small scar across her left cheek.
Ciaran backs up to an armoire, gathers a black robe, and wraps it around her shoulders. “My queen, you are as beautiful as I have ever seen you.”
“I do feel refreshed.” Voice sultry like a woman waking from a good night’s sleep, she casts a spell that dries her of the slime from the pool.
Neither Wren nor I move as we watch the destroyer of the world reclaim her youth as if she’s ready to begin her rule all over again.
My heart sinks. With this kind of magic, she could live forever. Elves are already long-lived, but this could make the witch queen immortal. This is a worse nightmare than leaping into a portal to Coire.
Long black eyelashes surround her dark eyes. She is both beautiful and horrible, as the ugly she keeps inside forces its way through.
I can’t take my gaze from her, and pure evil returns my stare. “One of Elspeth’s spawn. How is your mother? She and I were good friends.”
As much as I despise this creature speaking about my mother, I hold my biting words back. “She has told me about your friendship and your betrayal. Elspeth Riordan is the true queen of Domhan and will long survive your demise.”
The silk robe clings to her as she rounds the pool toward us. “You are not half as smart as your older brother, are you? I can see why soldiering was your only option. Though, just as now, I captured his quarry.” She smirks. “Did you drag this puny human here by her hair, kicking and screaming?”
Fury wells in my gut, but I force my mouth to remain shut.
“Do not speak about me as if I’m not in the room, witch.” Wren lifts her chin as if that will give her petite form more presence. She doesn’t know that it is her soul that fills a room more than her diminutive stature.
Ciaran steps between Wren and Venora. “Watch that tongue of yours before I cut it from your mouth and feed it to the demons.”
Wren narrows her eyes at him.
Laughing, Venora turns and walks to her throne. She leans back as if there are no wars or dangers for her. She thinks herself above harm. “I can see this one is more talkative than the last. That might be a good sign. Don’t cut out her tongue yet, mate. I require it for the moment.”
“What did you do to the other human woman?” The fury inside Wren creates a glow around her. She intends to defend the other human despite not knowing her.
Pride wells inside me. I focus on keeping none of my emotions visible on my face. At least I have learned something already. Aaran returned from the human world with the first of the women in the prophecy. Either Venora lost her captor, or she killed her. Nothing was said about them by Venora beyond that, which matters. She’ll lie to try to get what she wants from us.
“The same thing I will do to you if you deny me, creature. You’re nothing compared to an elf. An entire race of mongrels born in jungles who’ve learned nothing. You have magic you don’t know how to use, and the few who do squander their gifts on fortune-telling.” She pulls a disgusted face. “Small beingswho will be easily conquered as soon as I learn the source of your magic. If you tell me now, I’ll let you live out your life in the comforts of Coire. Deny me, and I’ll torture you until there’s nothing left but a wisp of a girl begging to tell me everything.”
Wren looks at her directly. “Humans have no magic.”
A lie that Wren no doubt believes.
The pleasant smile Venora has in place turns into a teeth-baring wolfish grin. “Maybe it isn’t your fate that scares you, human. Who was the woman you risked so much to rescue?”
Wisely, Wren remains silent.
