by Eve Redmayne
What’s he doing? He shouldn’t be standing! Her gaze landed on his legs, and she dipped. Wicked stripes snaked over bare calves and covered his thighs.
He turned and hobbled towards her, face white from the effort, and wincing with every step. Only making it a few feet, he collapsed into a chair, chest straining.
Your body’s not tolerating this! she screamed.
Impossible as it was, her nose twitched at the taint of rot. Rest, give yourself time to heal! she silently urged, but he stood again with a grimace.
“What the hell are you doing?” Grif entered the room and strode, red-faced, to grab Braum by the arm and direct him to bed. The crutch fell to the floor with a clatter. Though he barely reached Braum’s bicep, Grif had the widest shoulders Jessica had ever seen, tapering to a slim waist.
Braum clutched at his friend and let him guide him back to bed. His wasted body sank into its enveloping comfort. “I thought they’d get better with exercise.” A thin smirk crossed his lips as he nodded to his legs. “But I can smell they’ve gotten worse.”
Resting on the mountain of pillows, Braum tried to catch his breath, but only coughed for the effort. Nearly retching and face purple, he finally managed to force air into his lungs.
Jessica’s heart broke at the look on Grif’s face. His dark brows furrowed into an angry line as he examined Braum’s legs. And Jessica knew from his deadened expression there’d be no saving them.
Face pale, Grif spoke, “The fact you can walk on them at all is a testament to your strength of will. But the bones are no longer in alignment, which is why I’ve let you keep them up until now, and the wounds are seeping offal. Walking on them has made them wor—” the word stuck in his throat. “Why wouldn’t you just stay in bed like I told you? You think this makes you strong?” He plowed his fist into the stone wall beside Braum’s head. “Well, it doesn’t! You’ve brought yourself low.”
“Jessica,” Braum whispered.
Her ears perked up, and she floated closer.
“There is no Jessica,” Grif rasped, flexing his hands. “She’s gone and you’re killing yourself over a dead woman. Do you think that’s what she would’ve wanted?”
I’m not dead! she silently yelled. But then, she had disappeared with Willow. They must’ve done a better job at leaving no trace than they’d thought. The dwarves had never come for her. It would appear this was why.
Braum chuckled, “Yes, that’s what she would’ve wanted.” He sat up, clutching his emaciated chest. “You saw the state she left me in.”
Her back straightened. Okay, she’d almost killed him, but he’d instigated the whole situation, and, in the end, he’d survived. Her eyes fell on his face, drawn from exertion, then to his wasted body. She took a shuddering breath.
Grif shook his head. “If she hated you so much, why push yourself like this now?”
“She doesn’t hate me. And because she lives,” Braum wheezed and collapsed as another coughing fit overtook him, his once powerful shoulders crumpling inward.
“She is dead!” Grif punctuated the words and stood. The chair clattered backwards.
Tilly rushed in at the disturbance.
“Leave!” Grif roared.
She jumped and scurried away, closing the door with a soft click.
Griff’s hand brushed over his thick black beard, and he knelt by Braum’s side to grip his hand.
Jessica floated closer, straining to hear Grif’s whispers. Unshed tears glistened in his black eyes, and his voice broke, “She’s killing you now, as surely as she tried to kill you before.”
Her gut twisted, Grif was right. She’d hurt this once powerful man. Left him for dead when she should’ve helped him, should’ve figured something out and not let the anger get out of hand. She didn’t deserve him; he’d be better off without her. She scooched back, but Braum tilted his head towards her, his free hand reaching out, palm up, as though he noticed her absence. Oh lord, what’ve I done? She sidled closer and placed her wisp of a hand over his. A smile curved over his cracked lips.
Would he even make it through the week? With his ragged breaths and sickly coloring, the rot had taken hold.
“Fuck Jessica and fuck you!” Grif growled. When he received no response, he stilled and said bleakly, “We have to amputate both legs.”
Braum turned a bleary eye towards his friend. After a moment, he asked, word slurred, “Amputate?”
“Your legs have putrefied. But first I’ve preparations to make. It takes two days for the healing tonic to ferment and I won’t perform the surgery without it. The risk to your life is too great.”
Breaths labored, Braum, leaned back and stared at the stones lining his ceiling. “I’ve lain here for months,” he said with a gasp, “memorized every groove and pattern above me. Obsessed about losing my legs. And then, I felt her.”
Jessica leaned closer, every hair standing on end.
“Somehow she came back to me. Or is a figment of my own madness.”
Grif scoffed, clearly agreeing with the latter.
But Braum’s eyes grew hard. “She lives and because of her, my will to thrive was renewed. I want to make things right. I’m not the type to just sit and have things happen to me, I happen to the whole goddamned world, and this situation with my legs is no different.”
Another series of coughs wracked his body, and it took a moment before Braum could speak again. “Staying in bed, like you wanted, didn’t help. So, I got up and started walking. Thought maybe if I got the blood pumping, I’d get stronger. I know it didn’t work, but without my legs how can I find Jessica and seek her forgiveness?”
He turned to Grif, jolting the dark-haired man from a silent prayer, and pleaded, “Please don’t take my legs. Please, I need them if I’m going to find her.”
Grif let out a long breath and wiped a tear from his cheek. “We’ll talk about it later.” And without another word, he stood and left the room.
Fear prickled along Jessica’s spine as she drifted over Braum. Grif was right, the damage to his legs was plain, but to hear Braum beg to keep them for her…
A sad smile crossed her face as she looked at his treasured face. He’d drifted to sleep, thank goodness. And she’d do whatever it took to save his legs.
Jessica jerked to awareness back in the cottage and leapt to her feet. Relief warmed her to see the witch had returned from foraging. “Willow!”
“Hmm?” Willow asked as she set multiple candles alight with a twitch of her finger, just to blow them out.
Jessica flew down the ladder and grabbed Willow’s hand, wincing, as it burned like fire. “I need you!”
CHAPTER 22
Mystia grinned as she stood in the grand entrance of the Witch’s Council, grateful her banishment was at last over. All red and rose-hued bricks, the castle was slowly crumbling due to the fierce winds that pummeled the structure. But despite the disintegrating facade, the ancient fortress stood tall with spires reaching for the sky, grand halls filled with treasures, and lavish tapestries lining the walls.
She’d let it slip, of course. Had written to her parents that her brother was cavorting with Willow and that dwarf. Willow—a misfit in her own right—was bad enough, but throw a dwarf into the mix, well, that was more than she could stand.
With her strawberry locks hanging loose, she preened before a silver mirror, ensuring a perfect picture for when the council finally summoned her. The bell sleeves of her silver gown nearly brushed the floor as she paced. Whoever they were meeting with now had been there a while.
It had taken longer than she’d thought for her parents to respond. Unfortunately, they were the type to let their children make mistakes and suffer the consequences. Which was exactly how she’d ended up banished to that outer village on potion-making duty. A shudder rippled through her. All that time wasted, spent with those old women when she could’ve been doing important work.
Why they’d asked to speak to her and not Orrin was surprising, but she wasn’t
going to argue. Her brother always had acted the fool for the object of his affections, and now was no different. And, goddess love him, she always hated the girls he chose to court.
Suspicions that his current lady love was the dwarf troubled her. Inter-racial marriages were unheard of and would shame her family. Though, she couldn’t be certain it wasn’t Willow. But that bitch wasn’t any better. Still, he’d refused to answer when she’d confronted him; wouldn’t even confirm where he’d been going. So, she’d done what every good sister would and followed him as far as her banishment would allow.
Unable to travel further than the magical boundary that kept her imprisoned in the village, she’d recognized the path he took through the Wild Woods. Her brother had always consorted with lowlifes below his station. Of course, she was angrier with herself for being slow to notice his repeated absences.
The double doors slammed open, and Mystia spun around to face them. Two guards stood on the inside of the doors, and another two stood on the outside. Their uniforms, deep red wool, signified they were of the highest order of the guards.
Mystia’s mouth twisted as a contingent of elves strode from the council chamber. What? Witches normally didn’t associate with elves unless it had to do with the business of magic, and they certainly wouldn’t conduct a meeting like that in the council chamber. The council chamber was used only for the most important matters regarding the Coven and the Craft.
A tall elf, surrounded by men, spotted Mystia and bared his teeth in what was probably meant to be a smile. With his long, black hair tucked behind his ears and his every movement punctuated with an innate elegance, she sensed this was someone important. Her eyes fell to where his hand rested on the hilt of a sword. She spotted the royal, elven crest emblazoned in jewels and whispered, “Prince Wycliffe.” And immediately dipped into a deep curtsy, head lowered, and eyes downcast.
CHAPTER 23
Willow stared into the hearth and considered Jessica’s words. A long-brewing concoction simmered in one corner, smelling of last autumn’s leaves and the newly sprouted thyme she’d picked today. The fae’s powers extended beyond anything she’d ever suspected, into the realm of the near unbelievable. But there it was, Jessica could transport her shade from her body. And if Braum was as sick as she said, he wasn’t long for this world.
“What do you have that might heal him?” Jessica asked, eyes red.
Willow shook her head. There was little she could do to help the dwarf prince, she worked magic, not miracles. One by one she ticked off every potion, charm, and spell she knew, but nothing could free the body of rot. “There’s nothing.”
“Make something!” Jessica begged. “Use me and figure it out.” Her eyes shimmered with desperation.
Willow scanned the house, biting her lower lip in concentration. “That’s actually not a bad idea. If I combine your fae magic with my Craft I can make something new.”
She stood and rummaged through a cabinet, tossing aside stones and scraps of paper. Dried herbs crunched to dust as she hurried by to yank books off shelves, only to toss them aside. When a massive pile of scrolls, piled in a dusty corner, proved useless, she smacked her hands in frustration against the wall.
She scrutinized every vial, their contents sniffed and checked for potency. If they held promise they went in the basket at her elbow. Her foot tapped a rapid staccato as her eyes flitted from one thing to the next.
Finally, Willow raced to Jessica and grabbed her by the shoulders. “Time to put your magic to work. If you want to save your husband’s life, do exactly as I say.”
Jessica shivered but nodded.
Willow examined the fae. Her face was pale, but a pink glow brightened the apples of her cheeks. For Braum’s sake, hopefully, she was no longer prone to magical fits and now truly was in control of her magic.
“We’re going to use the power of threes,” Willow said, still working things through in her mind. “There’s strength in threes—it means life, death, and rebirth. This will be his rebirth. We’re going to bring him back from death, within whose embrace he now lies.”
Jessica nodded curtly.
Eyes still darting about, Willow continued to search for anything of use. “Cast a spell,” she mumbled, mostly to herself. She picked up a rowan branch, pressed it to her nose, then set it back down. “Potion and… healing charm. Power of three, see? We’re also going to put all your magical abilities to use.”
“Do we need all that?” Jessica twisted her hands. “I told you how bad he is. We’re running out of time!”
Eyes ablaze, Willow turned to her. “Who was the power of healing and the Craft, fae?” she asked, still picking through the items in her basket. “Because if you doubt me, you can do it yourself.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. But, please hurry.”
Willow dumped the supplies onto the worktable. What seemed like ages ago, she’d explained to Jessica that as a working witch, her tools and work surface were sacred to her. She didn’t own an altar or ceremonial knife, as that would be redundant, she only had what she used every day. It gave her a closer kinship to her tools and thus more power than if she only used them occasionally.
“We need something that can handle and direct a huge influx of power.” Burnished lashes lifted towards Jessica, rapping her fingers rhythmically against her knee. Willow’s heart jumped. This was her moment. She was going to harness the fae’s powers with her own. Faerie magic merged with witchery would create the most potent Craft ever known!
As she scratched ideas onto a piece of parchment, she mused, “Which crystal projects the purest energy?” Quill tapping against her chin, she tilted her head and considered what she’d written. With a grin, she circled the top of the paper with such force, the tip tore through the parchment and scarred the tabletop.
The chair screeched against the floor as she pushed to her feet, paper clutched within her hand. “Now’s the time to put your training to use.”
A hint of panic darkened Jessica’s eyes. Well, she should be scared.
“First, you must find a crystal of unparalleled strength. Second, source the purest spring water for a potion; water so clean it’s never felt the taint of man. Third, I’ll make a charm and when everything’s ready, you must channel fire and wind to embolden and carry the bespelled items to Braum.” Her hair and scarves billowed about her face in wild abandon. While her instructions were simple, the execution of the tasks was not. “Let’s get started,” she grinned.
***
It was a tall order, but Jessica was ready. Her back straightened as she thought about all the time Willow had spent helping her learn the essence of her powers. She ruled the elements. She had no powers of persuasion over animals or people, but the elements bent to her will.
She walked outside, sensing the outdoors might help. Willow hadn’t told her how to complete her tasks. The witch was leaving that up to her. Convenient. Give her an impossible job with no helpful hints how to accomplish it.
Atop a boulder, she gazed around. Spring was winning the battle over winter. Tough green shoots emerged from snowbanks clinging with icy tenacity.
Feet planted, and eyes closed, she began to search. She delved through the layers of earth, passed sediment, over clay and deeper than granite, seeking the perfect crystal.
But the further she dived, the hotter it got. Sweat dotted her body, yet still, she strained, passing inferior crystals that wouldn’t do.
Then all at once, she felt it.
But, gosh, it was hot! Too hot. Pain scorched the soles of her feet and between her toes. Her face split into a frown as her feet burned as though a fire raged below. But she couldn’t stop, not with the crystal tugging on her subconscious, whispering to her to come.
Just as her eyes rolled upward in defeat, she realized she didn’t have to find it. The crystal could come to her. Her very first act of magic had been to summon rocks.
With gritted teeth, she bore the scalding pain and called to the
quartz. Not a witch, she didn’t have a spell to force it from its hiding place. She had to compel it, coax it. And as she waited, her flesh peeled away from her feet in blackened strips.
***
Willow took a break from grinding herbs and walked onto the porch to check on her friend. A light drizzle fell, promising to turn to snow later. She brushed a raindrop from her cheek.
When her eyes landed on Jessica, her jaw dropped. Rain and sweat streamed off Jessica’s face, and her hair hung in wet strands. Her entire body hummed with power, glowing red as though illuminated from the very fires at Orygin’s core.
Certain she’d never seen anything more brutally beautiful than Jessica in her element—wild, fae—Willow let out the breath she hadn’t known she held.
She jumped as a scream ripped from Jessica’s throat.
It was only then, she noticed Jessica’s feet, and the peeled flesh covered in black blisters. “Goddess protect her,” she murmured and hurried over as Jessica collapsed onto the rock.
Willow gaped as she gathered Jessica in her arms, finding her cold to the touch. Only a moment before heat had radiated from her skin.
Straining against her larger size, Willow managed to help Jessica stand. And eyes wild, she scanned the ground. “Where’s the crystal?”
CHAPTER 24
Jessica awoke and flew to her feet only to cry out in pain. She sank back into Willow’s chair, pulled close to the hearth, and plucked at her shift.
Confusion pounded in her brain as she looked down at her feet, enshrouded in linens. How had she gotten back to the cottage and… where were her clothes? She dabbed at a bit of ointment seeping through the fabric, sniffed, and made a sound of disgust in the back of her throat.
“That’s the thanks I get for tending to your every need, is it?” Willow scowled from her stool at the table. “Your feet blistered into raw meat. That salve’s one of my specialties and can heal any burn if made properly.” She sounded smug, well-aware of her skills as a healer.