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Aldrich touched Layala’s arm. “It’s alright to eat,” he whispered. “I promise it hasn’t been tampered with.” The food practically beckoned her to indulge but she stubbornly shook her head.

“Eat,” Mathekis commanded in that rich timbre that made her muscles move. “You’ll need strength soon enough.”

No longer able to resist, Layala lifted the turkey leg to her lips and tore off a piece of meat. The salt, fat, and protein were better than anything she could recall ever eating. She almost moaned as she swallowed a mouthful. Even though she wanted to fight this command, just to prove she could, it was easy to give in.

After several bites Layala looked up to Mathekis and Varlett watching her with unnerving, predatory closeness. Even though Varlett was in her human form, she appeared very much like a dragon who wanted an elf for a snack. Layala cleared her throat and took a long drink of water. Perhaps she should play a game herself. “So we’re here because you want me to bring the Black Mage back. How would I do that? My magic creates vines and flowers. What does that have to do with the Black Mage?”

“We’ll worry about that when the time comes,” Mathekis answered. “For now, eat your fill.”

“Zaurahel said himself an elven mage with a lily’s mark would be born to ensure his return when he… died.” Varlett’s hesitation on the last word made Layala wonder. “And then stand at his side.”

Layala fumbled her turkey leg and it clanked loudly onto the glass plate in front of her. Standing at the side of the most evil mage to ever live? How could that be? A lie. It must be. Layala would never take his side. “He was a seer?”

“He was many things.”

Why were they keeping the how of it a secret? Would it cost her life? No, it couldn’t if they believed she’d side with him after. Would she somehow lose her free will, be enchanted by him? Or maybe… Layala picked the turkey leg back up. “Do you even know how to bring him back?”

Mathekis stared at Layala with unwavering coal eyes. “Zaurahel didn’t leave it up to fate. Fate is for the gods.”

Tenebris tapped his fingers on the tabletop. “You don’t need to explain yourself to her. She’ll do it one way or another.”

“I was alive when the old gods walked this realm,” Varlett said, cutting off Tenebris to brag, “I know more than you possibly ever could, Layala. You’re a little naïve girl and don’t forget it.”

Layala wanted to hide her surprise, but both of her eyebrows shot up. Varlett had to be at least two thousand, perhaps even three thousand years old. Odd that she wanted to point that out. Maybe she didn’t like sitting at a table with two others who challenged her. Shedidsay that power was the one thing she coveted more than anything. Of course, she may simply want to put Layala down, steal any confidence she could have left. “If you’re so old and knowledgeable, why is it that you need Zaurahel back? Why did you even need any of his magic in the first place? Or mine for that matter.”

Varlett’s mouth twitched. “It’s called loyalty.”

“You said he loved power more than you, and so you had a falling out.”

Varlett’s golden eyes narrowed, but a serpent’s smile played at her lips. Laughing, she turned to Mathekis. “This girl has quite the mouth on her, doesn’t she?” She suddenly sprang across the table, crashing over glasses and food, and pressed her long black talon against Layala’s closed lips. “And if you don’t shut up, I’ll cut out your tongue and eat it.”

Layala pressed herself back in the chair, resisting the urge to shove Varlett back. She wouldn’t win in a fight against Varlett right now, maybe not ever.

Tenebris smiled, watching the two of them with great pleasure. “She might not need her tongue for our goals. I know she doesn’t need her ears.”

Varlett’s black slit pupils dilated, and she inhaled. “You do smell good, and those dainty ears would make a fine part of my collection. I could make them into a necklace along with the bones in your hand.”

“Enough,” Mathekis said casually. “She’s not to be harmed.”

It wasn’t a magical command, but Varlett still backed off and slipped into her chair once more. But hatred burned in her eyes, fire hot, and if Layala didn’t know better, it was personal.

Layala picked up her turkey leg again, trying to feign like she didn’t almost just piss her pants.

“Now let’s get to business,” Tenebris said. “Here’s a little taste of what’s to come if you want to rebel. If you don’t want to cooperate.”

Aldrich shifted noisily in his chair. He and Layala exchanged a glance and there was something very worrisome about the growing fear on his face. Doors crashed open and a pair of guards carried a female between them. Her head hung low, and her feet dragged as if she was unconscious. Her filthy moss-green tunic was torn off at the shoulder on one side and her too-big trousers barely hung on her hips. The red hair that was once as vibrant as a ripe raspberry was dulled from dirt and grime. A hand grasped the crown of her head and jerked her face up. Bruises and several gashes on Piper’s delicate face made Layala gasp.

Piper stared out of her one unswollen eye. “Don’t you do it. You let them kill me first, Layala.”

Chapter3

Astream trickled quietly nearby, and the songs of swallows from the colorful trees overhead enchanted Thane enough to ignore the pain, if only for a moment. Breathing hard and muscles straining, his palms lay flat against the stone edge of the well, bracing most of his weight. With closed eyes, he listened to the calming serene sounds of nature, such a contrast to the agony mutilating his soul. He was desperate to go to Layala, but after three weeks he barely had enough strength to walk to the well outside Mage Vesstan’s cottage. He’d never had an injury take this long to heal, but he’d never been so close to death before. It was the Maker’s will he lived. Otherwise, he’d have died that day, and with the mate bond broken, Layala would have been safe. As much as it pained him to lose the connection to her, a small part of him was thankful. It meant she wouldn’t have to die if he did.

He grabbed the rope dangling over the well and set one hand over the other and tugged until the bucket rose from the darkness. The healing waters of Calladira washed down his throat and filled his stomach. A small blue and gold butterfly landed on the bare skin of his chest. Its little wings pulsed, and he briefly recalled the time he told Layala that butterflies brought good luck. He needed luck now.

Taking his tall, white wooden staff into hand, he leaned on it with each stride back toward the yellow cottage, fighting the twinge of pain in his torso. The pink, damaged flesh, shaped like a serrated eight-point star was sensitive to the touch. It was as big as his palm in both his front and back, a few inches above his belly button. He wasn’t sure it would ever fully heal like his other injuries had.

Mage Vesstan rocked in a chair on the small wooden porch, basking in the sun. His hair and beard shone even whiter in this light, but he somehow looked younger in his joy. He didn’t begrudge him for being at peace but wished he could be so relaxed. Thane drew close, and without opening his eyes, Vesstan said, “Now walk back again. Go on. Ten more times before you can rest. Tomorrow, I want you jogging. Picture her face at the end. You’ll get there.”