by Erin Hayes
But we could draw on it. It took little more than a single thought to reach out and grasp Mother Jonas, lifting her physically off the ground with only the power of our combined magic.
“I am sorry,” I said, realizing that despite all her hate and her desire to destroy me, I meant it. No witch should be drained of her magic.
But I had no other choice.
Kaedon had done the same with Lord Daeneld, and these two leaders faced one another across vast distances, on separate sides of Kaedon’s mountain range, and realized they shared the same fate. As one, Kaedon and I began spooling their power out of them, our own magic making theirs visible to provide a lesson to those watching.
“We will not allow our people to fight any longer,” Kaedon said. Both Daeneld and Mother Jonas’s minions fell away from them, their eyes huge and terrified. The magic continued to pour out of the two leaders and through the mirror, swirling around us and joining our power until it grew larger and larger within me, within Kaedon.
On the other side of the mirror, Mother Jonas’s mouth fell open in a silent scream as the very last of her magic was pulled from her. She crumpled to her knees, sobbing as our magic dropped her to the ground.
It didn’t take torture to strip a witch’s magic away from her.
But taking her power was torture. I hoped to the Great Mother above that I would never have to use my newfound knowledge in this way again.
The cold white magic spooling out of Lord Daeneld came to an end, and he, too, dropped to his knees.
“The rest of you have three days to pass the message throughout our world,” Kaedon said. “No more war.”
Everyone on the other side of the mirror stared at him, openmouthed.
“Do you understand?” Kaedon thundered.
One of Lord Daeneld’s minions stepped up. “We do, my lord,” he said.
I turned my eyes on the coven. “And you?” I asked, making my voice as hard as I could.
Sister Susanna stepped up. “No more war,” she said solemnly.
I believed her, so I nodded at Kaedon.
The golden light glowed around us, growing brighter and brighter until everyone on the other side of the mirror covered his or her eyes.
“Three days,” I reiterated, and then closed the connection.
In the sudden silence of the room, Kaedon and I stared at one another, surrounded by the magic we had stolen, full of the magic we had created, and suffused with more than we knew how to handle.
And in that instant, I comprehended that it felt familiar and why it did.
It felt like using the magic my mother had left behind in me.
With a single thought, I pulled the magic surrounding us into a whirling ball of light, spooling it around and around until it was part of one single form.
With a word, I cut off our link to one another, pushing our shared magic back into our bodies.
The lights surrounding us went out. In its place, the regular light of day seemed almost dark.
When I let go of Kaedon’s hand, my legs gave out from under me and I collapsed to the ground. The last thing I saw was Kaedon throwing out a net of light to catch me.
I landed softly.
Epilogue
Three days later
I opened my eyes and blinked at Kaedon. “You’re still here?”
“I’m not going anywhere until I am certain you are ready for this.”
I snaked my hand out from under the blanket to capture his with it. It dawned on me then that I was in his chamber.
His bed.
The realization sent shivers through me.
“How long was I out?” I asked.
“Three days.”
Sitting straight up, I began searching for my clothes. I couldn’t wear my shift to check in on the witches. “Did they quit fighting?”
Kaedon nodded. “So far.”
I sank back against the pillows. “Thank the Great Mother.”
“We have other things to discuss when this is over.” His gaze bored into mine. “About us.”
I nodded, but I wasn’t going to discuss anything with him until our kingdom was safe.
Sitting back, Kaedon began updating me on everything that had happened while I’d been unconscious.
And suddenly, it seemed possible that it was actually going to be a single kingdom—not a war-torn land with elves in the center and witches around the edges, but a true, integrated society.
That was the hope, anyway.
Both the witches and the elves were sending representatives to sign a temporary treaty that would allow the two sides to move toward a more permanent peace.
I wasn’t entirely certain how enduring a peace gained under the threat of violence could truly be, but it was closer than anything we had ever achieved in our extensive history.
And already, we were beginning to see the stirrings of trade—especially along the coast, where apparently, there had been a fair amount of smuggling already.
“You realize, we will have to be particularly careful when the delegations are here,” Kaedon said. As usual, he seemed to be reading my mind—something I would like to assume was a side effect of our shared magic, but that, if I were honest with myself, I could trace to before we had shared anything.
“Assassins,” I said, nodding.
“If our magical joining is the only thing keeping the peace, then someone is bound to attempt to destroy it,” Kaedon said.
“Then we will simply need to—”
“—create a spell that extends this power beyond just us,” Kaedon finished.
I glanced down at our joined hands.
There was much to be completed. Not only for our country, our kingdom, our world—but for us, as well.
For Lord Kaedon and the witch Harper.
I still hadn’t entirely figured out the significance of our combined magic feeling like my mother’s.
I didn’t know what that meant.
And despite the shield her magic had provided, I still carried within myself remnants of the poison Mother Jonas had intended for Kaedon.
“Hey,” Kaedon said, his voice softer than usual. “We will figure out everything we’re facing together.”
“Are you actively reading my mind now?”
He smiled, and the sight of it sent shivers down my back. “No, but I am… more aware of you than ever before.” He, too, looked down at our clasped hands, the way our fingers intertwined. When he cast his gaze back at me, his eyes were hot with desire.
“And are you aware of what I’m thinking now?” I teased.
With a slight growl deep in his throat, Kaedon reached down with his other hand, threaded his fingers through my hair, and leaned in to cover my mouth with his. The touch of him sent sparks of a different kind of magic shooting throughout my body.
We still had quite a bit to deal with.
But for now, I would focus on just one thing.
One person.
The only Fae lord I’d ever trusted.
The one my magic had bound me to.
Breathe, I told myself. Just breathe. We can do this.
Together.
The End
Continue the Cursed Magic Series in book two, Blighted Magic, coming soon.
And keep an eye out for Margo & Rebecca’s next collaboration in Wicked Blood.
.* * *
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About the Authors
NEW YORK TIMES and USA TODAY bestselling author Margo Bond Collins is a former college English professor who, tired of explaining the difference between "hanged" and "hung," turned to writing romance novels instead. (Sometimes her heroines kill monsters, too.)
Read More from Margo Bond Collins:
https://www.amazon.com/Margo-Bond-Collins/e/B00EOU9DEG/
www.MargoBondCollins.net
NEW YORK TIMES, USA
TODAY, and WALL STREET JOURNAL bestselling author Rebecca Hamilton lives in Georgia with her husband and four kids, all of whom inspire her writing. Somewhere in between using magic to disappear booboos and sorcery to heal emotional wounds, she takes to her fictional worlds to see what perilous situations her characters will find themselves in next. Represented by Rossano Trentin of TZLA, Rebecca has been published internationally, in three languages.
Read More from Rebecca Hamilton:
https://www.amazon.com/Rebecca-Hamilton/e/B0072J4RS8/
www.rebeccahamiltonbooks.com
White as Snow
May Sage
White as Snow
Blanche Wood's life has always been crazy - voices in your head kinda crazy - but before him, she could deal with it.
Her step-mother would have loved to carve her heart out and eat it the day her father died, but as Blanche is the last of the Woods living in the Woodlands, she had to put up with her.
Alessandro Primerius, Prince of Alenia, the fay decent who could rule the entire world if he so wished, was everything the Queen's ever desired... and he wants Blanche.
That should not be possible.
After all, Queen Ilda is the fairest of them all.
Fairest
Tucked between Alenia and Ferren, just south of the Denkerian island, there was a little kingdom, so small it might have been mistaken for an insignificant plot of land; it wasn’t.
The Woodlands had been gifted with so many blessings, it was often called the Jewel of Europa – and rightly so. Wild, untamed stretches of green, lakes so pure the crystalline waters were said to prolong life and cure most ailments; it wouldn’t have been more delightful if it had been dreamt up.
The popular conundrum was, what had come first, the Woodlands or the Woods? For no one knew whether the kingdom was bewitching because of the family that ruled it, or whether the family owed their good fortune to their enchanted lands.
Some said the Woods were Fays, others talked of nymphs and elves. What was universally acknowledged was the fact that they were the soul of the Woodlands.
They hadn’t called themselves royals, at first; back in the day, they had been the Enchanters. It was only a few centuries ago, when the surrounding kingdoms had attempted to annex their haven, that the Woodlandians, preparing for the inevitable conflict, chose to establish a proper chain of command.
There was no vote, no referendums; no one needed clarification. The Secretary just drew up the papers, and every noble Huntsman signed them, without so much as a shrug. The Woods were made Kings.
All of this, of course, occurred quite a while back – once upon a time, in a different age – yet the Woods were just as loved, and just as magical as they had been in the old days.
Twenty-five years ago, the Woods received yet another blessing, in the form of a squealing fat bundle of laugher and joy.
King Vincent had wanted a boy, as he was quite fond of shooting, hunting, playing ball, and rather clueless in the art of dolls and taffetas, but when he entered his wife’s chamber to be presented with his first offspring, he forgot all about his silly preference, and fell right in love with his adorable daughter. He wouldn’t be the first or the last to do so.
Queen Margaret, however, had longed for a girl and worse, yet: she’d wished it.
“We’re both so pale,” she'd confessed in her diaries, the day she’d learnt she was with child. “Between us, we’ll have a child white as snow; I just wish her to have Vincent’s heritage, rather than mine. Lips red as blood and hair dark as night. She'll be the fairest of them all.”
If fate had been kinder, her plea would have gone unheard; she didn’t have a drop of Fay blood, after all.
But on the other side of a portal located right inside her home, through the old mirror on the wall no one paid any mind to, there was one god who’d spent the last era plotting and scheming, hoping for just such an opportunity as this.
Apollo smirked, delighted. He was well placed to know that there was no world vast enough to allow two fairest blood to coexist in peace.
“Lips red as blood, hair dark as night. You got yourself a deal, woman.”
And soon, thanks to the foolish woman’s careless babble, there would be war.
Hopefully, it would be destructive enough to finally let him return to his home.
“It’s not going to work.”
The Sun God turned to his sister, one eyebrow raised. Artemis had observed most of his ventures in silence, over the years.
“What makes you say that?”
“You’re pitting a minotaur against a common bull, brother.”
He weighed her words, and even looked into the future to decide whether she was right; but all he saw were two women, one as stunning as the next, and each of them holding the heart of thousands of men in their grasps.
All he saw was chaos.
“Care to place a wager?”
The Woods
Twenty-three years later
Virtue, understanding and patience were all well and good, but sometimes a girl just needed a break.
Blanche ran out of the doors right after her twelve hour shift, without even bothering to get out of her itchy, sweaty clothes. She needed fresh air, freedom; but more than anything, she needed control right now, and that was what the forest at the foot of Nordeen Castle represented for her.
If Queen Ilda had any idea, she would have had each tree plucked out to ensure she was left no respite – and no power.
Blanche didn’t stop until she reached the river, a good mile into the forest; some Woodlanders might venture out – they were, after all, a country of huntsmen and foragers – but those who would weren’t loyal to Queen Ilda. Her pawns knew better than to attempt to enter Blanche’s domain.
Across the rest of the continent, people had forgotten or stopped believing in the tales, but the Woodlands might as well have been part of another world.
Each year, there was a festival where the royal family would give their thanks to nature, a pageant affair involving barefoot dances and other embarrassing stuff; magic had shone through for all to see, pouring into their lands.
That was the secret to the Woodlands’ wealth: their farms were incomparable, because their air and their lands were purer than any other kingdom in the whole of Gaia.
Needless to say, things had changed over the last fifteen years. Oh, there had been such festivals, but in private, and Blanche had been forced to perform them completely alone.
Guess what, dearest stepmother? It doesn’t work.
Nature knew she was suffering, and it wasn’t happy about it. Their country was slowly losing the reputation it had built over the course of three thousand years and each passing season, Blanche knew what it might cost her.
Idla would realize that she was useless to her, soon, and when she did, Blanche was as good as dead.
Don’t be silly, little dryad. You won’t go down without a fight.
Blanche did realize that hearing voices wasn’t what one might call a sign of psychological wellbeing, but she wasn’t crazy: trees genuinely could speak. To her, in any case.
“I’ll fight,” she acknowledged.
But there was a very good chance that she would lose.
Her father had been a powerful Wood, his voice could genuinely make the earth quake a little, when he’d been pissed off. He’d also been a great man, profoundly in love with Blanche’s mother, but one winter changed it all.
Queen Margaret died, so mysteriously everyone had been talking about poisoning, and within weeks – weeks! – Gramhilda Fairwhite, one of the nurses who had seen to her care, was paving her way into the King’s bed, and to his throne.
Now that she was older, Blanche comprehended it better. King Vincent, for all his strength, was a man, and Ilda – as she liked to be called – was what one would call a bombshell; Queen Margaret’s loss had naturally pushed him to seek to satisfy his baser instincts, and well, Ilda’s plush breasts, long lean legs and curvy b
utt explained the rest.
But it hadn’t ended there; after his wedding, King Vincent quickly became a mere shadow of his former self, and then, just disappeared, without leaving a trace.
Blanche knew magic, she’d been raised to comprehend it: there was no doubt in her mind that her step mother wielded it – and she had to admit that Ilda was much more powerful than Blanche could ever be, without guidance.
So yes, she would fight; no creature on earth would relinquish to death before its time.
But she also knew she’d lose.
Certainly. If you wish to lose, you shall.
She tuned the buggers out; what did they know? They were trees, for crying out loud.
In need of a good workout, despite her fatigue, Blanche removed her disgusting dress and jumped head first into the freezing River Reine, warming up with each stroke.
She didn’t last long; perhaps fifteen minutes, but she’d felt refreshed, relaxed by the time she made it back to the banks.
For a minute, that is. Then, she stopped to grab her dress from the ground, and lifted her head to come face to face with the hunkiest man she’d ever heard of, encountered or dreamt about.
He was gigantic, and seemed larger still, as he sat at the back of a low, massive motorbike. He had light brown hair, cropped short, a dusk of hair around a strong chin, a delightful mouth – the bottom lip was plumper, begging to be tasted – and his nose was perfect; the most remarkable feature were the eyes, though. They weren’t the normal kinda “yeah, I have two.” Oh, no. These were “I’m seeing right into your panties” kinda eyes.