The Moon Witch

by Linda Winstead Jones

  The stone upon the altar at the center of the courtyard glowed, amber and brilliant. It grew brighter as Juliet approached, as if it sensed with hope and anxiety and excitement that a new Queen of unimaginable power had come. When she was almost upon it, the light of the stone began to throb, as the Heart of the Anwyn beat in time with Juliet’s heart.

  Ryn did not watch the pulsing, powerful stone that contained the heart and power of his people. He kept his gaze on Juliet. She was magnificently beautiful, lovelier and more striking than he had imagined she could be when he’d taken her from the soldiers. There was a brightness and beauty about her that outshone all others. And he wished with all his heart and soul that she were not Queen. He wished that she was nothing more than his mate, his woman, his wife.

  Words were spoken at the altar by the elder of the thirteen priestesses and then by Queen Etaina. From the crowd there was not so much as a whisper. After all, to see a new Queen take her throne was a rare and sacred moment. When the high priestess nodded, Juliet raised her right hand and repeated the vow in a voice that was strong and tender, unwavering in its strength. Standing before her people, she took a vow to serve the Anwyn until another came to take her place. A vow to dedicate her life to the service of her people. A vow to rule with kindness, intelligence, and fierceness.

  When the vow had been spoken in its entirety, Juliet placed her hand on the stone. The Heart glowed so brightly that some of the women in the crowd closed their eyes. The Anwyn did not look away or shield their eyes, but basked in the glorious golden light that flooded The City. The new Queen’s delicate fingers did not quite cover the width and breadth of the precious stone, as it infused her with power.

  And she infused it.

  Juliet’s body jerked, but she remained on her feet and her hand did not leave the stone. Her lips parted, but she said nothing. Snow continued to fall, light and sparkling, on the woman who discovered a new part of herself, who embraced an obligation to a people she did not yet know. The stone and Juliet were connected, their power melding as they fed one another and each grew strong.

  The glow surrounding the stone and the woman dimmed, Juliet visibly relaxed, and the ceremony was done. The crowd remained silent, in awe of what they had seen. Juliet turned her head and looked at Ryn the moment her hand left the stone. He could see the power in and all around her. The gown she wore swayed slightly as if a gentle wind caught the folds; her golden eyes glowed with power and vitality.

  She was Queen.

  Liane sat back and watched as Isadora prepared the tea the two of them had taken to drinking every morning. Something was wrong, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on the problem. Isadora was paler than usual, and there was a tightness to her lips and a redness to her puffy eyes.

  Something had upset the witch, and whatever it was had happened last night, sometime between supper and an early rising. No one had been in these quarters last night but Isadora; of that Liane was certain. She did trust the witch, to a certain extent, but she wasn’t a foolishly trusting empress. A sentinel had been posted outside the door. No one had entered and Isadora had not left the room all night.

  Unless she’d somehow found and used the hidden passageway that connected to the bedchamber.

  “Are you ill?” Liane asked.

  Isadora did not lift her head. “No, my lady.”

  “Did you sleep well last night?”

  “I did not sleep at all,” Isadora replied without emotion as she continued to stir.

  “Why not?”

  The witch pursed her lips and said nothing.

  “I demand an answer.”

  Isadora poured the elixir she’d prepared into two small cups and walked toward Liane with one in each hand. “My husband dropped by for a visit.” She held out both cups. Liane would choose one; Isadora would drink from the other.

  “I thought you were a widow.” Liane chose the cup made of green glass and left Isadora with the clear.

  “I am.” With that Isadora upended the glass cup and drank the vile but supposedly healthy potion in one swallow.

  Liane followed suit, draining her glass quickly. It was easiest that way. “His spirit visited you? Is that why you’re upset?”

  “I am not upset because the spirit of my late husband paid me a visit last night,” Isadora said as she took the empty glasses to a table, where Mahri quickly collected them and rushed from the room. The young girl was not fond of discussions which concerned magic, and she certainly didn’t care to hear of spirits in the palace.

  “Then what is it?” Liane asked sharply. Between Mahri and Ryona, she had enough of girlish emotions to deal with. Isadora was a woman stronger than Mahri and Ryona combined. Liane expected strength from her witch, not girlish tears and pouting.

  “I am upset because he’s not coming back.”

  Sebestyen was meeting with his priests this morning, and though Liane wanted to be there, she had complied when her husband had requested that she stay in her quarters on Level Five this morning. She would prefer to be with him, of course, but she trusted him enough to accede to his request and leave him to his work.

  He trusted her enough to take her word that it was not dangerous to be alone with Isadora. She trusted her husband; he trusted her. It was a new and frightening concept.

  “Sit with me,” Liane commanded, indicating the chair at her side. Isadora sat and clasped her hands in her lap, and it was only then that Liane noticed how the woman trembled. “You loved him very much.”

  “I did,” Isadora replied in a soft voice.

  “You miss him.”

  Isadora’s spine stiffened, as if she were drawing on her strength. “I do.”

  “Men are plentiful and much the same no matter where you go,” Liane said confidently. “Choose another.”

  Isadora’s head snapped up and she glared at Liane. At least there was now something besides sadness in her dark eyes. Anger was better than sorrow. Stronger and deeper. “I have no wish to choose another.”

  “Stupid,” Liane said beneath her breath, but loudly enough for Isadora to plainly hear.

  “If the emperor died, would you blithely replace him?”

  Liane’s heart gave a small and unexpected leap. Fear? Of losing Sebestyen the way Isadora had lost her husband? “If I so desired.”

  “It is not so easy,” Isadora said softly.

  “I imagine not. But neither is it impossible.”

  Isadora shook her head gently.

  “On Level Three there are a number of men trained in the ways of giving pleasure. Any one of them could make you forget a man long dead.”

  “I don’t wish to forget,” Isadora whispered.

  “Then call them to you in the dark, close your eyes, and pretend the man who pleasures you is your husband.”

  Isadora’s eyes widened. “Such a thing is not possible.”

  “Of course it’s possible. I’ve done it myself.” Many times. All before Sebestyen had made her his wife, of course. Before he’d become the only man who touched her; before she had admitted to herself that she loved him.

  “I’d rather die.”

  Liane stood slowly. Her stomach was growing at an alarming rate, and she found it best to move slowly and carefully at all times. She had months yet to go before it would be time for this child to come into the world, and yet he grew larger every day. She had only just begun to worry about the practical problem of pushing this child from her body.

  “Foolish,” Liane said angrily. “I should send you to Level Three for proper training, whether you want it or not. A day with the Masters and you’ll give up these romantic fantasies that hold you from the life you should be living.”

  “If any man lays a hand on me, it will be the last time he touches a woman.”

  It was a steadfast promise, a vow Isadora was capable of and likely to keep.

  Liane turned to study Isadora, who leaped to her feet as she remembered that she should not remain seated while the empress stood. Such
foolishness was not important to Liane. True power transcended such trivialities. She had true power now. Sebestyen listened to her, the ministers respected her, and even the priests no longer dared to insult her in the emperor’s presence.

  But she had not yet found a way to do away with Nelyk. As empress she was constantly surrounded by sentinels and servants, and she no longer had the luxury of time alone. Time to plan, to execute.

  “Bors accused you of murder,” Liane said simply. Isadora flinched, but she did not turn her head and look away. “Was the accusation just?”

  “Yes.”

  “I have killed my share of men who deserved death,” Liane confessed. “It isn’t pleasant, but in some instances there is no other way.”

  Isadora glanced toward the window, as if she wished to flee from this conversation by any means available.

  “There is a man,” Liane said in a lowered voice as she walked toward Isadora. “He has abused his position of power and made a number of young girls suffer at his hand. He cloaks himself in the garments of a priest, and does things no godly man would ever do.”

  Isadora was already shaking her head. “I will not kill again, if that is what you’re asking of me.”

  “I am your empress,” Liane said without heat.

  “Punish me if you must, kill me, but I won’t do murder again.”

  Liane cocked her head and studied Isadora’s pale face. “You have a great strength about you. Do you not believe it is the duty of those who are strong to protect the weak?”

  She flinched a little. “I suppose.”

  “This man, this priest, he seduced a young girl. Perhaps he even raped her. I could never get her to tell me exactly what happened.”

  “Perhaps this girl of yours is guilty of poor judgment, and the priest is guilty of nothing more than breaking his vows of chastity.”

  “This girl of mine, as you call her, might be guilty of many things herself, but that does not mean the priest is innocent. When he found out she was carrying his child, he threw her into a pit in the ground where her child was born amidst filth and drug addicts and death. Level Thirteen,” she said. “Perhaps you have heard the place mentioned in fearful whispers.”

  The witch lifted her head and glared at her empress.

  “It was not the first time he had done such a thing,” Liane added.

  Isadora continued to stare, and Liane allowed her a few moments to contemplate the request. Surely the witch knew, as she did, that sometimes justice wasn’t an easy thing. The world needed strong men...and women...to mete out that justice.

  “I don’t suppose it matters what I do with what’s left of this life,” Isadora said passively. “What is it that you wish me to do, my lady?”

  Her body sang with power, and instead of being afraid, Juliet was invigorated. She had not been alive until she’d taken the vow that made her fully Anwyn. She had not known what joy was until she’d embraced that once hidden part of herself.

  She looked at Ryn and smiled, but his face remained solemn. No wonder he had been angry when she’d offered to take the wolf from him. Colors were brighter, scents from the gardens of The City were sweeter, she felt more alive than ever before. Ryn’s scent teased her, mingled in with all the rest and calling to her in a primal way. She knew that scent to the depths of her soul. He was hers. He had been right all along. She was connected to the earth; she was an integral part of it. She was an animal, just as he was, and it was a good and powerful thing to be.

  And love...there was so much love in the world, and she felt it within her as she looked at Ryn. No, she did not love him, not yet, but she would.

  She was tempted to release her powers, to undo the detachment Ryn had taught her. If she did so, she would finally know the full depths of her abilities. In the past, she had been able to touch people and see into their minds and hearts. Sometimes she’d been able to concentrate on her sisters and know they were safe, or not safe. All her life, she’d had very little control over her gift. It was sure to be enhanced now, to a new and perhaps even frightening level. Could she handle such powers? Or would they be the end of her, as she had often suspected they would be? She didn’t want to find out here and now, in front of all these people.

  But neither did she want to be alone. While she stood in the palace courtyard surrounded by people who loved and feared her, Juliet saw only Ryn. She lifted her hand, palm upward, inviting him to join her.

  He had been right all along; she knew that now. They were meant to be together. It was fated and there was no escaping what was meant to be. She needed no powers beyond her Anwyn senses to know that. Why had she fought him for so long? And she had fought him, risking death to escape from the truth of who she was.

  After a moment’s hesitation, Ryn walked toward her and took the hand she offered. Everyone watched, and so she did not speak to him of what she had discovered. He knew; he had always known. When they reached her chambers, she would tell him that he’d been right all along.

  They had made love on hard ground and standing against cold rock and with no bed but a bearskin. Today she would take him into her soft bed, and after he made love to her, she’d tell him that she accepted his offer. She would be his mate, and for a while she would be Queen as well. Not forever, though. She would find a way to put someone else in power while maintaining the peace of the Anwyn.

  She wanted to live in the house Ryn had built for her and fill it with children, and she wanted to run with him when the wolf came upon them both.

  He said nothing as they walked into the palace. Guards followed along behind them at a distance. Juliet could not wipe the smile from her face. Why had she been afraid of this? She was where she was meant to be, with the man she was meant to call her own.

  The walk from the courtyard to her quarters was a long one. The palace was massive and somewhat of a maze, but she had already learned to navigate the hallways as if she’d lived here all her life. It was home, in a way the Fyne cabin had never been. This palace, this mountain, they were in her blood.

  Everyone—she and Ryn, the soldiers who followed—remained silent as they made their way through the maze of stone hallways. Eventually she would take up residence in the Queen’s apartment on the third floor, but for now Queen Etaina still called those rooms home. Juliet was in no rush to claim the royal apartment. There would be time enough for that in the days and weeks to come.

  She and Ryn stepped into her chamber, and with a wave of her hand she dismissed the soldiers who had escorted her from the courtyard. They would remain close by, she knew, standing guard in the hallway and beyond.

  But inside this room, she and Ryn were alone.

  She dropped his hand and spun around, coming to a halt facing him, her head tilted back so she could look into his face. “I feel wonderful.”

  “The Queen feels the rush of the Heart in a way no other Anwyn ever can.” He did not smile at her. She missed his smile most of all.

  Juliet stepped forward and lifted her hand to touch Ryn’s face. “I can share it with you,” she whispered. “It’s wonderful, bright and heady and exhilarating.” Since they were alone, she reached inside herself and loosened the cord that connected her to him. Just that one deeply seated tendril that was more important than all the rest.

  As soon as the gates were opened between them, she was sorry she had invited him in. Ryn did not want to be here. He did not want her to touch him; he did not wish to share her newly discovered joy. Her hand dropped, and her smile faded. “You’re angry.”

  “It would be improper of me to be angry, My Queen.”

  “Juliet,” she corrected.

  “My Queen Juliet.”

  Ryn had wanted her in days past and in truth he still did want her...though he fought his desire mightily. Juliet went up on her toes and kissed him, and he did kiss her back. But the kiss was without the passion she had come to expect from him. She knew she could command Ryn to kiss her more thoroughly, and he would. She could command him to mak
e love to her, and he would do his duty well.

  While they were kissing, he blocked her as he had on that first day. He threw up that barrier between them. Juliet now had the power to push her way past the barrier, she knew. But she didn’t.

  “You were right you know,” she said as she took her mouth from his and stepped away. “We are meant to be together.”

  “Yes.”

  “You don’t sound very happy about that.”

  He didn’t respond, and Juliet made her first command of her mate. “Ryn, I insist that you tell me the truth. What’s changed since we came here?”

  “You,” he said gently. “You have changed. The plans I made for us, the plans I have been making for years, have changed. They changed the moment I learned that you were Anwyn. I never planned to live in this place, surrounded by guards and soldiers, second to the duties of a Queen. I wanted a simpler life.”

  She could see too much into him, now that she had discovered her full power. It was not even necessary to touch him, though she knew if she did, she’d be inundated with a flood of his emotions. “What you really want is a simpler wife.”

  “Yes,” he answered sharply.

  “And the Queen doesn’t marry,” she said.

  “It is not the way of the Anwyn.”

  Juliet turned her back on Ryn, walked to the window, and looked out over The City. Her city. It was magnificent. More magnificent than she had ever imagined a place could be. The City stretched deep into the mountain. It spread across this valley, each stone of every house carved to perfection. And her people...her people didn’t only live here in this beautiful place. They lived beyond the walls, in simple homes and caves beyond The City.

  They would come, now that she had taken her throne. Through their dreams and their Anwyn senses, they would know that a new Queen had arrived in The City. They would want to see her, speak to her. Touch her.