Bespelled: A Fae Fantasy Romance (Fae Magic Book 5)

by Jessica Aspen

  “Why would you do that? Why do you even care about him?”

  “He’s the reason I exist at all. Don’t you remember dearie? No, of course you don’t.” The Crone gave her a sympathetic glance. “Tsk, tsk. What a shame.”

  A tremor of anticipation laced with fear raced through Thorn. She clenched her hands to hide their shaking.

  This was it, the thing she didn’t want to know. The entire reason she had no memory. But she wasn’t a little girl racing to hide with the fairies. Nor was she a sheltered princess happy in her ignorance. Or an innocent maid asleep in a spell. She’d fought, she’d loved—and she’d lost. She could face her past.

  “Tell me.”

  “You don’t want to know.” The Crone curled her lip. “You never wanted to know.”

  “I’m not a little girl anymore. I want to know.”

  “Do you?” The old woman started across the grass towards Thorn, black eyes blazing. “Do you want all your memories back? The bad ones, the terrible one, the ones that split you apart into us? You fractured the first time, fell apart into a million pieces and if I hadn’t been there, you might never have recovered. If I throw them all back into you, what do you think will happen?”

  Thorn opened her mouth to speak, but the Crone cut her off.

  “You’ll break, dearie, that’s what will happen. And this time, I may not be able to save you.”

  “How could you save me? How did you save me?” Inside, Thorn was shaking. If things had been that bad, she didn’t want to know. But of course, to save herself, to save Ardan, she had to know.

  The Crone was getting closer. Thorn edged away, but she didn’t go far, the fanatical gleam in the old woman’s eyes kept her tethered close.

  “When we were young, oh so young and innocent, our lovely father, the Black King, decided he wanted a grandson. And not just any grandson. He wanted one with so much power, he’d be able to take over all of Underhill. So he sent us to be a human slave to the most powerful king in all the land, that slug, Oberon. And do you know what happened?”

  Thorn shook her head, fascinated by the hatred in the old woman’s face.

  “He did things to us. Dirty, nasty, violent things. Tied us up and used whips and chains and hot coals. His imagination knew no bounds. Your poor little self couldn’t take it.” The old woman said in a soft voice, shaking her head. “And you shattered!” she shouted, her voice echoing across the valley.

  Thorn jumped.

  The Crone cackled another laugh. “Ah, but you were resourceful, dearie. You put yourself together. You put us together, stitch by stitch. The Morrigan to fight for us. And me to keep the memories. But for yourself you kept all the best things—the happy, the fun, the beauty.” She spit on the ground. “Yes, you kept it all. But now it’s mine. I have the power and I’m having the fun. And if you want it back, my little love, you have to take it all—the bad with the good. ”

  “I am you, aren’t I?” Thorn’s head spun. She didn’t know how she knew the truth, but she did. The old woman was her. She was the missing piece.

  “Of course you are, nitwit! What do you think I’ve been saying? But I’ve taken all the best parts, all the power, all the memories. The only thing I left you was the youth and the beauty and the stupidity that comes with it. And with all the power and the knowledge, who needs to be sexy for real?” She shimmered back into the pouting full curves of the dark-haired seductress. “Glamour works just as well at getting what I want—maybe even better.” She shimmered again and was back to her true, crooked shape.

  Up the length of the valley sounded the pounding of hoofbeats.

  “Danu’s tits, here comes that fucking soldier. We’re out of time, dearie.”

  Thorn gazed at the Crone in horror. Was this who she’d been? This vicious old hag bent on nothing but destruction? Was this why everyone hated the Black Queen?

  The old woman raised her hand and pointed a finger at Thorn. “Now, my lovely,” she crooned. “You don’t want those bad, old memories, do you? You want to go to sleep and dream. And let me finish what I’ve started.”

  “I don’t want to go to sleep.” Thorn took a step back as the threatening finger sparked with black electricity.

  “Yes you do, dearie. It’s exactly what you want. Nice, safe sleep, where you can dream about handsome men, and delicious food, and dance the night away forever.”

  Thorn raised her own finger, a spark of purple lighting the end. “No. I’m never going back to dreaming.” She shot a blast of power at the old woman.

  The Crone moved, faster than Thorn had expected, and the magic glanced off the old woman’s arm, scorching the sleeve of her dress and leaving the burning smell of cooked flesh.

  “Ow!” Thorn looked down. A bright red spot appeared, forming a raised welt on her upper arm.

  “You can’t hurt me dearie. I am you. We’re tied together.”

  “But the Morrigan is dead. Someone killed her and left us alive.”

  The Crone’s laughter crackled out, dark and without any real amusement. “Someone else did that deed, not us. You can’t damage the part of you that only exists to protect you. You need me.”

  Ardan came barreling up on Triton. He pulled to a halt, the steed’s sharp hooves digging into the dirt and sending clods of earth flying. “Thorn, get away from her.” He brandished Gleam, the blade shining in the mid-day sun. “It’s time to take your head, old woman.”

  “Ah, here’s the great hero to save the day.” The Crone’s wrinkled cheeks crinkled into a mocking grin. “Is that your plan? Kill me and take everything? You’d better think twice, love. If he kills me, you’ll have to take it all.”

  “Ardan, stop.” Thorn ran between them. “She won’t hurt me.”

  “What are you saying?” He looked from her to the Crone, the point of his sword staying aimed at the old woman.

  “We’re the same person, Ardan.” She looked him straight in the eyes and knowing she was severing everything she might have ever had with him, she told him, “I am the Black Queen.”

  “Hah!” The old woman’s shoulders shook and she gasped for air between belly laughs. “You’re no more the Black Queen than he’s the Golden King.” She wiped tears of laughter from the corners of her eyes as she sobered. “You pitiful child. You think I let you keep the crown? You have nothing!” Her mouth was wet with saliva, and she spit out the words, “You only got the body and the youth and the shiny red curls. I have everything else. Me! The queen! And I’m keeping it. All of it.”

  She turned to Ardan and pointed. Black sparking magic flowed like liquid smoke from her fingers, encircling him in a black cloud and the bitter scent of dark magic rose on the air. His eyes widened. He gasped for breath, coughing and choking, his hands rising to clutch at his throat.

  “Release him.” Thorn gathered her Gift and sent a blast of power into the Crone’s magic but as soon as her pale lavender magic hit the black of the Crone’s, she reeled in pain.

  “Told you that you couldn’t hurt me.” The old woman chortled. “It’s like trying to hurt yourself, love. You might as well give up now.”

  “I’m not giving up.” But she pulled the magic back.

  “He doesn’t love the real you, dearie. He can’t. No one can love us, but us. We’re hideous. That’s why they treat us the way they do. They beat us and hurt us and cut out our hearts. And the only way to get their love is to do the same to them. It’s all they understand. But you won’t ever need to know that, will you? I’ll take care of you. I’ll make sure you’re tucked away safe.” The Crone drew closer and held out her free hand. The other one kept up the stream of smoke surrounding and choking Ardan. “Now, come with me, love, and we’ll find you a safer resting spot so I can go back to what I need to do and finally destroy Oberon.”

  Ardan’s face turned blue and he toppled off Triton, hitting the ground and writhing with his hands at his throat.

  Thorn stared in horror. “He’s dying!”

  “What do you ca
re? He’s a man. They’re only here to use and abuse before they get the chance to use and abuse us.”

  Ardan lay curled on his side, his body jerking with spasms as he suffocated. Thorn ran to him, but before she got there a long clawed hand reached out and grabbed her.

  “Leave him,” the Crone shrieked, dragging her away, the old woman ten times more powerful than Thorn expected. “He’s nothing to us!”

  Thorn fought the old woman’s grip clawing and fighting to get to Ardan dying on the ground, every mark, every bruise rising on her own skin.

  He’d come for her, when he didn’t have to. He’d stood by her when she’d pushed him away. She didn’t know anything about her past, but suddenly she understood—without Ardan, she had no future.

  “You’re wrong. He’s sacrificed for me, taken care of me. He loves me.” She wrenched away from the old woman. “I may not have the memories, or the power, but I have something you’ll never have—true love.”

  She reached for her Gift and a rush of lovely lavender light magic flowed through her, filling her with confidence. It might not be as much as she thought she’d once had, it might not be enough, but every drop of precious power was hers.

  She gathered it up and let loose a ball of purple lightning. It hit the Crone’s magic and exploded in a rain of purple sparks, the fresh scent of her magic vying with the stench of the Crone’s.

  The blast rocked her back. Pain shot into her deepest self, running along the channels of her Gift and shocking her to her center. She reeled back, falling to the ground, aching in every corner of her being.

  The smoke smothering Ardan wavered and thinned before reforming blacker than ever.

  Thorn crawled over to him, but the choking smoke kept her at bay. Tears poured down her cheeks and she brushed them away. “I won’t let her kill you. Ardan, I love you.”

  She wouldn’t let this piece of herself kill him. She finally understood, this bitter old woman wouldn’t stop unless she was dead. So be it. To save Ardan, she’d do anything, even sacrifice her own life by killing herself. She climbed to her feet and gathered her magic for one last blast. Turning back to her other self she pulled as much magic as she could, and got ready to die.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Black spots danced in front of Ardan’s eyes as he lay on the ground striving for breath. Everything was going black around the edges but in the dim light that was left, Thorn was a beautiful beacon of glowing purple light. Her red hair curled, rising in writhing coils to the sky, sparks of electricity crackling at the ends of the living testimony of her magic.

  He could see it in her eyes, her determination to take out the part of herself that was killing him. He stretched out a hand, trying to get in enough air to tell her no. He wasn’t worth her sacrifice. But he couldn’t get any air in, let alone any words out and as the darkness closed in he knew they were both going to die.

  Off to the side, a shimmer formed in the air and out of the mists of the portal that formed strode Aoife, immaculately clad in white pants and tunic, her cloak of blue stars shimmering like the night sky under the noon day sun. “I finally have you.”

  “You can’t kill me,” the old woman sneered. “You’ve tried many times, haven’t you but the spell that transferred to me your one chance at creating life, binds us together.”

  “I may not be able to kill you, you old witch, but he can.” Aoife sent a blast of power at Ardan. The smoke dissipated, blowing away into the air as if it had never been. He gasped, sucking in fresh air, grateful to see Aoife even if he had never wanted to see her again.

  “He could kill me, but he won’t.” The Crone laughed, an evil gleam in her eye. “Once again you’ve failed.”

  “He will. He has until tonight to bring your head back to your son. And he will do so, or I’ll kill him myself.” She turned to Ardan. “Get up and use that sword. I’ll send you enough power to do the job right this time.”

  Ardan lurched to his feet. His lungs burned, but every drop of air he pulled in cleared the spots from his vision. He had no idea what would happen to Thorn if he killed the old woman but he’d seen the love in her eyes as she’d gotten ready to sacrifice herself for him. She loved him, and there was no way he’d let that go. Not now.

  “No,” he rasped out. “I won’t.”

  Aoife’s face turned an apoplectic shade of red. “Kill her. Now!”

  “I won’t put Thorn in danger.” Ardan recovered Gleam from where it had fallen in the grass and turned to Thorn. He winked at her and she smiled back and the look in her eyes of love and confidence was all he needed to see.

  They’d come this far together in a few days. From total strangers, to lovers, to partners as they faced two of the most powerful women in Underhill. She’d put her trust in him and he wouldn’t let her down.

  Armed with her confidence he turned back to Aoife. “You’ve manipulated me for the last time. This quest was never about me gaining a place or saving my life. It was always about you, and your quest for vengeance.”

  “Why would killing the Black Queen put your lover in danger? Aoife’s eyes narrowed. “She looks enough like the girl Aeval once was, but I’ve done my research. The very same magic that stole my child from me limited her to only conceiving Kian, so she can’t be her daughter. And the old king only had one child. Is she an illegitimate cousin?”

  “You fool.” The Crone smirked. “You never were a match for us, not when we slept with your pig of a husband, nor when we stole your child.”

  Aoife blanched. “We. You’re saying we.” She turned back to Thorn, evaluating her with dawning understanding. “Oh, that’s clever.” Her laugh was bitter. “No wonder you didn’t die with the Morrigan. Well, if I have to kill you over and over again I will until you are dead, dead, dead.”

  She pulled magic from the sky and it rushed down on a breeze. A chill stole over Ardan’s skin.

  “You can’t kill us. Your own magic prevents you.” The Crone laughed, not even bothering to bolster her shields.

  But the magic that Aoife pulled didn’t shoot out at the Crone, or at Thorn. Instead it came straight at Ardan, in a blue white rush that took him over. He tried to bolster his shields, but he was weak from the suffocation. Cool, blue, and filled with the light of the stars, Aoife’s magic filled his muscles until he had no control over his own body. He raised his sword.

  “She’s the Black Queen just as much as the Crone.” Aoife pointed at Thorn. “Kill her!”

  His movements were jerky and stiff as he fought for control. Sweat pouring down his face, but filled with Aoife’s power he moved faster than he ever had before and Gleam came up, glowing blue with Aoife’s magic, and aimed right at Thorn’s throat.

  “Everything you’ve ever wanted is in your grasp. Kill her and win your place in court.”

  The old woman shrieked as Gleam came down, the sound grating on Ardan’s ears. The old woman’s speed and agility was surprisingly quick. She reached Thorn before the blade had completed half its arc and shoved. The blade’s shining arc missed Thorn altogether, instead sinking into the old woman’s side.

  The Crone’s eyes went a deep black and she screamed as she fell, blood gushing from her wound. The weight of her body nearly pulled Ardan down, but he automatically braced his legs and pulled the sword out. A rush of blood and fluids spewed from her torso. As her life pumped out of her body there was a swell of power. A black lightning bolt shot from her hand, rushing across the space and lifting every hair on Ardan’s body. There was a massive crack and Aoife exploded, her body disappearing in a conflagration of black edged light.

  THORN’S HEART TWISTED inside her body. She’d never felt such pain. She checked her body, but she wasn’t bleeding. It was only her soul that was dying. She sank down next to the old woman and cradled her in her arms. “Don’t go.”

  The Crone said something, but Thorn couldn’t hear. She leaned in closer.

  “Take the power.” Blood bubbled up at the old woman’s mouth, dribbling down
her chin. “You can reclaim our throne and the Black Court. Take our enemies and torture them until they scream for mercy.”

  The old woman’s grey hair lifted, and the smell of burnt ozone rose. The temptation of the massive amount of power tickled at Thorn’s Gift.

  Fear, desire, and a deep sense of panic raced through Thorn in a rush of emotion so strong she had no idea which was which. She stared at the old woman, unable to even speak.

  If she did this, she’d have everything she once had—power, prestige...her memories.

  Ardan staggered over to them. “Do it.” He stuck Gleam into the ground and leaned heavily on the sword. “You’ll have your memories back.” His face was lined with exhaustion, but she read nothing but love for her in his face. “It’s what you want.”

  “She said I couldn’t handle it. That I’d fracture at the pain.” Should she take the power? And the horrible knowledge that came with it?

  Her heart pounded as she watched the light fading from the old woman’s eyes.

  “Take it,” she rasped. “Be the Black Queen again, be powerful...for us.”

  “I know we can’t lie, but she doesn’t understand the truth about you. You’re stronger than she knows with or without the power.” A tired smile flickered over his face. “Stronger than you know.” He knelt down next to her and took her hand. “I believe in you.”

  “If I do this, I’ll be someone else.” She gestured at the Crone. The old woman’s skin had gone a deathly shade of pale. “If I do this, I’ll be the Black Queen.”

  “You’ll have power and riches and everyone will serve you.”

  She’d have this bitter woman inside of her. All the vicious things she’d ever said and done would warp and twist the person she’d finally become. Everyone would hate her. Her own son would hate her.

  Most of all, she’d end up hating herself.