Her eyes changed, grew more gold and then turned almost black. Her back arched, and she cried out in pain. Ryn pinned her wrists to the ground to keep her from pushing him aside and running from the truth. She tried to fight him, but even the strength of an Anwyn Queen was not enough to displace him.
Her body jerked as the truth rushed through her veins and her spirit—and through his. She screamed and tried in vain to push him away. Images flashed through his mind, so quick and disordered he could not decipher them all. Emotion he did not want filled him, broken images made him flinch and gasp, but he did not take his hands or the weight of his body from Juliet.
The images faded and she went slack, exhausted by the experience of her newly enhanced powers.
“It’s not possible,” Juliet said hoarsely, her eyes drifting closed and the visions abating at last.
“It is,” Ryn said gently.
She had seen not only the palace and the crown that awaited her, but the power of the animal that was locked deep within her. The wolf had slept inside Juliet for a long time, but it had always been there. She knew that now. The presence of the wolf was the secret truth that had frightened her from the first moment she saw him. Power, violence, the wild animal hidden beneath the trappings of an ordinary woman.
The blood of the Anwyn ran in her veins, and she could no longer deny it
“The claws are mine,” she whispered, terror in her low voice. “Dear God in Heaven, the claws are mine.”
Chapter Twelve
Bors and one of his soldiers kept Isadora's face covered as they dragged her up the stairs, and her hands remained tied behind her back. Up and up and up, stumbling since she could not see the steps before her, Isadora walked. Bors kept a tight grip on her arm, and the soldier remained behind the prisoner, occasionally placing a prodding hand on her back when she moved too slowly.
Bors was no longer afraid to touch her. She’d been so meek in days past that he’d apparently forgotten how she’d killed the soldier at the Fyne cabin. That night seemed like a lifetime ago, but in truth it had been a matter of weeks. She had not seen the cabin burn, thanks to Juliet’s intervention, so there were moments when she allowed herself to forget that it didn’t still stand, as it had stood for more than three hundred years.
There were moments when Isadora didn’t care if she lived or died. Bors and his soldiers could kill her, for all she cared, and she knew that if she stopped being so meek and lashed out at them, that would happen quick enough. But Juliet’s words rang in her head, and she could not force them out. Sophie still needs us. She had failed Will; she had failed her mother. She would not fail her sisters.
Finally, they reached their destination. Isadora was yanked to a stop, her legs aching from the long climb and her heart beating too fast. Bors ordered someone to announce his arrival. It seemed he was expected.
She heard the very faint squeak of a heavy door opening. The air changed, as warmer air mingled with the cool air that had chilled Isadora for more days than she cared to count. In the background she heard the crackle of a fire, and she welcomed the warmth.
“You took your sweet time,” a man said crisply.
“There were complications, my lord.” There was deference in Bors’s voice, and in the very formal “my lord.” Did he address the emperor himself? Or another high-ranking official?
“Obviously,” the man said in a lowered voice.
Bors dragged Isadora forward and snatched the hood from her head. Bright light streamed through the windows and from the skylight above, where thick glass kept out the winter cold but allowed sunshine to pour in. For a moment the flood of light blinded her; she had been wearing the hood over her face for most of a week now, and had become accustomed to the darkness. But eventually her eyes adjusted to the light.
The immense room was furnished sparsely, but no expense had been spared in choosing the furnishings and tapestries and rugs. The chamber was decorated with gold and silk and fine upholstery. There was not one fireplace but two—one on each side of the massive room. Healthy fires burned in both, robbing the room of its winter chill.
Oddest of all were the batons set in the walls. Thick rods had been set into the stone at regular intervals. They all glowed brightly, adding light to the dark comers of the sun-filled room. Isadora blinked as she studied the batons. Was this magic? Or some science that was unknown to her?
The man who sat upon the throne just a few feet away was surely the Emperor Sebestyen. He was tall, slender, and regal, and he quickly commanded her attention. His crimson robe was made of the finest quality fabric and was adorned with a touch of gold filigree. Not enough to make the apparel seem unmanly, but more than enough for any observer to conclude that this was an important man who had money and fine things at his fingertips. He had the coldest blue eyes she had ever seen.
The woman beside him was likely the empress. Her throne was also placed on the dais, but was slightly lower and less ornate than the emperor’s chair. Her demeanor was as hostile as the emperor’s, and she looked upon their visitors as if they were an annoyance. An unwelcome interruption. She was also dressed in crimson, but her regal outfit was trimmed with jewels as well as gold. Blond and brown spun hair had been twisted up and back, and a jeweled headpiece held the silky strands in place. Isadora had seen hair like that only once in her lifetime. Sophie’s Kane had that unusual hair color.
There were others in the large room, priests and sentinels who stood back and waited to be called upon, but the two sitting on the dais commanded Isadora’s attention. They were trouble, in a very big way.
The emperor studied her with lazy, contemptuous eyes. “I thought there were two.”
Bors actually shuffled his big feet as he answered. “One was taken on the road,” he explained.
“Taken? By whom?”
“A man,” Bors said awkwardly. “He—”
“A man?” the emperor asked incredulously.
“Yes, my lord,” Bors answered softly.
“A single man managed to take a prisoner from the Imperial Army?”
“Yes, my lord.”
Emperor Sebestyen leaned back in his chair. His pose was casual, but the intensity in his face and his eyes were not. “Please explain to me how this happened.”
Bors began to spin a tale, and what a tale it was. The taker who had stolen Juliet away in this tale became larger, quicker, and better armed than the man Isadora had seen. He was not actually a man at all, according to Bors, but a monstrous beast. Once, Isadora opened her mouth to call him a liar, and the grip on her arm tightened in warning.
Emperor Sebestyen leaned forward, slightly more interested by the end of the story. “Details aside, your prisoner was taken and you did not go after her. Why should I not kill you now?”
“Of course we went after her, my lord. The soldiers and I gave chase, but it was no use. And after a while it seemed foolish to continue the pursuit. I’m quite sure the witch was killed as soon as the brutish animal was done with her.”
Isadora didn’t have Juliet’s psychic abilities, and her magic was dampened and unreliable, and still she felt certain that she would know in the pit of her soul if her sister had been killed by her abductor. Will's spirit had found its way to her after death; she felt sure Juliet’s would do the same, if the worst happened.
Again the emperor looked squarely at Isadora. She looked right back, unafraid.
“Are you the one with the gift of sight?” he asked.
“No,” Isadora answered sharply.
Bors kicked the backs of her legs so that she dropped to her knees. “That’s no, my lord to you, witch.”
Isadora said nothing, and Bors kicked her again.
“That’s enough,” the emperor said, bored with the game. “If you had to lose one of them, why did it have to be the one with the sight? I have great uses for such a power at this time, as I’m sure you well know.”
“A thousand apologies, my—”
“Don’t apologize
,” the emperor snapped. “Fetch her.”
“But...” Bors began to argue, then thought better of it. Apparently arguing with Emperor Sebestyen was not wise. “I will leave directly and do my best to follow her trail.”
“Come back without her and I’ll have your head,” the emperor said, again seemingly bored. He turned his gaze to Isadora again. “What can you do?”
“At home I tend the animals and help with the garden, my lord,” Isadora answered.
For a moment, the emperor was silent. The entire massive room was silent. “I believe you fully understand the nature of my question,” he finally said in a slow, deliberate voice. “I’ll give you one more opportunity to answer.”
Isadora swallowed hard. “I know a few spells, my lord.”
“A few spells,” he repeated, unimpressed.
“She does seem to be the less useful of the two,” Bors said, a hint of good humor in his voice. “And the most dangerous, my lord. She killed two of your soldiers and wounded another.”
The emperor looked more amused than offended. “Did she?”
“With just a touch and a few words she killed, in one instance. It would be best to keep your distance from this one, and whatever you do, don’t let her lay her hands on you, my lord.”
“Is she going to be more trouble than she’s worth?” the ruler asked.
Bors nodded. “Yes, my lord. Most definitely.”
Isadora struggled to her feet. “If you’re going to kill me, make it quick. I can’t bear the thought of spending another day in this liar’s company.”
Bors lifted a hand to strike her, but the emperor stopped him with a raised finger. “Liar?”
“The man who took my sister is just that. A man. Bors is afraid he’s outmatched, that’s why he spun such a tale for your benefit. My lord,” she added belatedly.
“A tale.”
“Juliet is not dead,” Isadora said hotly, “but Bors is afraid he will be if he goes up against the man who took her.”
“How do you know she’s not dead?”
Isadora locked her eyes to the emperor’s. She did not know what to make of him. The man who sat on the throne of Columbyana was certainly not her friend. He had dispatched the soldiers who’d kidnapped her and Juliet and burned the cabin. But he was not her enemy in the way Bors was. Not yet, at least. “I know, my lord.”
“You know?”
Isadora nodded.
“Perhaps this witch is more useful than you allowed me to believe,” the man on the dais said thoughtfully.
“She’s lying,” Bors responded.
“And if she’s not? What if she possesses a magical way of reaching her sister across long distances? If she can communicate with her sister, perhaps she can do the same with others. Do you not think such a gift would be useful to me?”
After a moment of thought, Bors managed an uneasy grin. “She has no useful gifts that I have discovered, my lord, other than her ability to kill without weapons. She’s much too unstable to be of any real use. I suggest we toss her into Level Thirteen. It’s suitable punishment for her crimes, and if it turns out that she and her sister can communicate across long distances, this one’s misery will call to the other one and bring her to us. If she’s not dead,” he added quickly, “as I suspect she is.”
Level Thirteen? Isadora didn’t know what Bors was referring to, but whatever it was, it couldn’t be good.
“Perhaps,” the emperor responded.
The empress moved for the first time. She laid a gentle hand on her husband’s arm and leaned toward him. He moved also, tilting his head toward her as she began to whisper into his ear. From this vantage point, Isadora could see that the empress was with child. Her stomach was definitely rounded.
Her discussion with the emperor finished, the pregnant woman returned to her staunch position.
The emperor addressed Bors. “You will fetch the other one, this Juliet that you allowed to be taken. This one...” He turned pale eyes to Bors’s captive. “What is your given name?”
“Isadora, my lord.” She tried to sound compliant. She knew Bors wanted her dead; she wasn’t yet sure about the emperor.
“Isadora will serve the empress for now.”
“My lord, that is not—” Bors began.
“My wife wishes to have her own witch,” the emperor interrupted. “What the Empress Liane wants, she shall have.”
Isadora’s gaze shot to the empress. The woman’s eyes caught Isadora’s, and in spite of the apathy and the determination there, Isadora knew this woman had just saved her from Level Thirteen.
Once again, the emperor laid his cold gaze on Isadora. “You will keep your hands to yourself, and there will always be someone nearby to cut them off if you forget that edict.”
Isadora’s stomach flipped. “I have no intention of harming the empress or anyone else, my lord.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
The emperor issued curt, irrefutable orders. Isadora was to be taken away, bathed, and prepared for her new job as the empress’s personal witch. Bors was to collect a handful of men and go after Juliet.
Bors didn’t care for either edict, but he was not in a position to argue.
A part of Juliet wanted to turn back and run toward home. Ryn could chase her and he could catch her, but he could not hold her forever.
But another part of her, an undeniably strong part that she had only recently discovered, was drawn toward The City and the sacred stone that waited there. The Heart of the Anwyn, Ryn had called it.
She had not lain with Ryn in the days since he’d told her she was Queen, since he’d instructed her to connect to the earth as he had told her she could and she’d seen the truth. No wonder the sex and the claws always came together in her nightmares. Ryn brought them both to her. Pleasure and pain, wonder and savagery.
Since seeing the truth for herself, Juliet had not been able to completely sever her ties to the earth. Perhaps she would never be able to do so again. Ryn had erected that barrier between them once again, but there was so much more. She saw and felt those who had come along this road before. Couples, some already in love, others intrigued with one another, still others uncertain of their future, had all traveled this same road. Caradon, watching and waiting, had hidden here. She did her best to push those thoughts out...they were ugly and filled with hate, and she did not want that bitterness to take root inside her.
Her days in the mountains, traveling with Ryn and lying with him and even thinking of falling in love, might be the only days of her life spent in absolute peace. She certainly knew no peace now, and she might never again. With all her heart and soul, she wished not to become a wolf; she did not want to be Queen. She didn’t want the claws which she now knew slept inside her to be set free, any more than she wanted to know that an Anwyn male, a slender man with dark hair, had made love for the first time to his newly captured wife, who already cherished him to distraction, on the road she now walked upon.
Ryn said love was not necessary for an Anwyn and his mate, but she knew that for some there was love. She felt it here, in the earth and in the air.
She didn’t turn back and run away from the destiny Ryn had shown her, even though she found it frightening and even repulsive. Her father lived. Her father! Ryn had explained that Kei didn’t live within The City’s walls, but he visited several times a year. Seeing him and confronting her Anwyn blood didn’t mean that she had to take the vow that would transform her fully to Anwyn. She would meet her father, decline the place of power that Ryn swore was meant for her, and decline to take the vow that would awaken the wolf in her. When her business there was done, she would leave The City without Ryn, and without ever seeing or feeling the claws that lay hidden inside her. It was the only plan she could contemplate at this time.
They would soon reach The City. She knew this not because Ryn told her, but because she felt it. Since she was unable to close off her connection to all things, The Heart called to her. It drew her int
o its embrace as if it were yet another lover. There was power in The Heart, just as there was power in these mountains, and they both fed Juliet in a way she did not wish to be fed.
None of it mattered, overmuch. In the end she would leave The Heart and The City, just as she would leave Ryn.
“I wish you would speak,” her captor said in a lowered and distinctly unhappy voice.
“I have nothing to say to you.”
“You have much to say to me, you simply choose not to.”
“Perhaps I should sing,” she threatened.
“Please do so.”
She scoffed as she climbed a rugged rock that blocked their path. “As I remember, you had unkind words about my singing voice.”
“Yes, but you were happy then, and I miss the happiness.”
She stopped on the path and turned to face Ryn. “So do I, but that’s over.”
“Why?”
Ryn understood why; and she knew without touching him how deeply and truly he understood. “I can’t disconnect the ties anymore,” she said.
“You can, when you shake free the anger and regain control.”
It sounded so simple. “When I leave here, will I be able to shut down my ability whenever I want?”
“I don’t know,” he answered. And though he didn’t say so aloud, she knew he didn’t think she’d ever have the opportunity to find out. He didn’t think she’d ever leave these mountains. He was wrong.
“Do you wish to disengage from that ability now?” Ryn asked.
More than anything, but going home. “Yes.”
Ryn indicated a rock ledge behind her. “Sit.”
Juliet shook her head. “I can’t sit. We don’t have time...”
“We have all the time we need. Sit,” he said again, his voice soft and strong.
Juliet clambered up the steep rock and sat, and when Ryn walked to her, they were face-to-face. She had tried very hard not to look at him too often in the past few days. She felt betrayed, and like it or not, she still had feelings for him. He’d lied to her, he’d seduced her...he was a part of the destiny she did not want.
The Moon Witch Page 20