Page 33 of Wind and Water (Reign of the Witch Queen #2)

Wren and I walk on with the demons surrounding us and Ciaran outside of the bubble. It’s clear he has spent enough time here that he’s used to the gases. There’s satisfaction in his preference for putrid air over being close to us.

Leaning in, I whisper, “I think you scared him.”

A hint of a smile pulls at her sweet lips. “Good.”

We reach black doors that stand fifteen feet high. Ciaran pushes the center, and they open. Back straight and chin high, he steps inside.

Hesitant, we don’t move. A demon pokes me with the back of his spear.

Wren’s arm in my grasp, we go inside.

The foul smells dissipate. The bubble around us evaporates.

The room is lavish with every inch of wall space draped in red and black fabric.

A similarly curtained bed sits against the wall, featuring black bedding and red pillows piled high.

At the far side of the room, a chair large enough to be called a throne glows gold with black cushions. It sits on a dais but is empty.

Here, no primitive torches are burning in metal loops, as magic lights the space with the glow of pure white stones.

I’ve only seen such creations in the mountain where the oracle lives.

It’s not like the magical fires that burn throughout my parents’ home or the rocks heated with magic used instead of open flame.

It cannot even be compared to the bulbs I first saw when I went to the human world.

The white stones are old magic, and until now, I believed they could only be created with oracle magic or by the old gods themselves.

How did Venora get them? My gut tightens.

At the center of the room glows a rectangular pool with heat rising from its foreign contents, which roil like the sea.

My skin prickles with the vibration of dark magic flowing from the unnatural pool.

Bouncing like giant, deranged fleas about to leap on a new dog host, the demons stay just outside the open doors. Their eyes glow bright red, as if lit from Coire’s fires.

Ciaran strides to the other end of the pool and lays his sword on a table.

He removes a dagger from his hip and places it there as well.

“You will see that this is the way of the new world my queen has created. You will wish to kneel before her once you learn of her true greatness.” The awe in his voice is nauseating.

“Never going to happen,” Wren says, giving the pool a wide berth when we round to the left side.

Seeming not to hear her, Ciaran closes his eyes and raises both his hands to shoulder level. The spell he casts is the darkest kind of magic. The words are ancient Elvish, but the dialect was banned due to its association with evil. These are the words forbidden for generations.

My ears ring from the bombardment of sounds not meant for my hearing. As my gut clenches, I hope I can hold down the meager food from earlier. This type of magic is perilous. Even without understanding the meaning of the words, my light magic recoils from the spell.

Wisdom dictates that I do nothing to provoke Ciaran until I have a way to get Wren out of this place safely. Threatening or bludgeoning him as I’d like to puts her in additional danger. If I’m killed, how will she get out? I can’t risk it. If I could, I’d have broken his arm when he touched her.

Waves form in the pool, and the center darkens.

“What in the name of all that is holy is that?” Wren grips my arm but drops her hands away a moment later.

As much as I want to be her safe place, we have to keep some distance between us, or our enemies will use it against us.

A figure grows and rises to the top. The thick fluid sluices away, revealing Venora Braddish. Her skin is taut and smooth. She looks young and healthy. Whatever she’s feeding from has added years back, leaving her looking like a twenty-year-old.

Without glancing at us, she steps naked from the pool. Her long black hair is slick against her pale skin and reaches nearly to her ass.

This is the first time I’ve ever seen the witch queen in person, though I’ve fought her minions all my adult life.

Elves age slowly, but Venora is my mother’s age.

They went to school together, yet she looks younger than I.

The only hint that anything has changed in her over the last fifty suns is a small scar across her left cheek.

Ciaran backs up to an armoire, gathers a black robe, and wraps it around her shoulders. “My queen, you are as beautiful as I have ever seen you.”

“I do feel refreshed.” Voice sultry like a woman waking from a good night’s sleep, she casts a spell that dries her of the slime from the pool.

Neither Wren nor I move as we watch the destroyer of the world reclaim her youth as if she’s ready to begin her rule all over again.

My heart sinks. With this kind of magic, she could live forever. Elves are already long-lived, but this could make the witch queen immortal. This is a worse nightmare than leaping into a portal to Coire.

Long black eyelashes surround her dark eyes. She is both beautiful and horrible, as the ugly she keeps inside forces its way through.

I can’t take my gaze from her, and pure evil returns my stare. “One of Elspeth’s spawn. How is your mother? She and I were good friends.”

As much as I despise this creature speaking about my mother, I hold my biting words back. “She has told me about your friendship and your betrayal. Elspeth Riordan is the true queen of Domhan and will long survive your demise.”

The silk robe clings to her as she rounds the pool toward us. “You are not half as smart as your older brother, are you? I can see why soldiering was your only option. Though, just as now, I captured his quarry.” She smirks. “Did you drag this puny human here by her hair, kicking and screaming?”

Fury wells in my gut, but I force my mouth to remain shut.

“Do not speak about me as if I’m not in the room, witch.” Wren lifts her chin as if that will give her petite form more presence. She doesn’t know that it is her soul that fills a room more than her diminutive stature.

Ciaran steps between Wren and Venora. “Watch that tongue of yours before I cut it from your mouth and feed it to the demons.”

Wren narrows her eyes at him.

Laughing, Venora turns and walks to her throne. She leans back as if there are no wars or dangers for her. She thinks herself above harm. “I can see this one is more talkative than the last. That might be a good sign. Don’t cut out her tongue yet, mate. I require it for the moment.”

“What did you do to the other human woman?” The fury inside Wren creates a glow around her. She intends to defend the other human despite not knowing her.

Pride wells inside me. I focus on keeping none of my emotions visible on my face.

At least I have learned something already.

Aaran returned from the human world with the first of the women in the prophecy.

Either Venora lost her captor, or she killed her.

Nothing was said about them by Venora beyond that, which matters.

She’ll lie to try to get what she wants from us.

“The same thing I will do to you if you deny me, creature. You’re nothing compared to an elf.

An entire race of mongrels born in jungles who’ve learned nothing.

You have magic you don’t know how to use, and the few who do squander their gifts on fortune-telling.

” She pulls a disgusted face. “Small beings who will be easily conquered as soon as I learn the source of your magic. If you tell me now, I’ll let you live out your life in the comforts of Coire.

Deny me, and I’ll torture you until there’s nothing left but a wisp of a girl begging to tell me everything. ”

Wren looks at her directly. “Humans have no magic.”

A lie that Wren no doubt believes.

The pleasant smile Venora has in place turns into a teeth-baring wolfish grin. “Maybe it isn’t your fate that scares you, human. Who was the woman you risked so much to rescue?”

Wisely, Wren remains silent.

Venora cocks her head. “Same eyes and small stature. Same mouth, but older.” Her eyes lit with realization.

“I will have my creatures do whatever it takes to recapture her and rip off bits and pieces of her until you tell me the truth. I think starting with her fingers would be the most sensible approach. What do you think, Ciaran?”

“An excellent plan, my queen. Shall I send for the wolves to accompany a squadron of soldiers?” He looks from Wren to me, searching for some reaction.

“My mother is beyond your reach.” Crossing her arms, Wren never takes her gaze from the witch queen.

Venora’s eyes widen, and her voice rises. “No one is beyond my reach, wretch. I can get to anyone in all the worlds where I am queen, including this one. Do not test my reach. Give me what I want, or you will pay the price.”

Without blinking or shrinking back, Wren again says, “Humans have no magic.”

Fury burns in Venora’s stare as she rises. “You think you can thwart me. Perhaps the Riordan’s son is a perfect sacrifice to loosen your tongue.” Her focus shifts to me. Pointing at me, she shoots dark magic from her fingertips.

My heart lurches. Pain rips through my body. No air will flow into my lungs. While I clutch my throat, my knees slam against the stone floor. I’m drawn toward the witch queen as if she were the center of the universe. My body lies on the floor, and I float above.

Wren screams my name as she kneels beside my dead form and looks up at my essence floating above.

Staring at my hands, I am a shadow.

Light magic surrounds me as Wren’s prayers fill the place where my heart should be.

Come back to me. We are one, inseparable, unyielding. You cannot leave me, not like this.

The dark magic rips away, and I slam back into my body. Pain tears through me where evil claws at my soul. I can’t hold on, but Wren is there with her beautiful magic, keeping me within the painful embrace of my elven form.

Both light and darkness war for my essence. The way I was bound to Venora when in shadow is terrifying. I would have served her, killed for her, died to protect her, and given all of my demon-self to her service.

Now, I am the rope tugged at both ends by two powerful women, each with their own reasons for wanting me, but only one who gives me a will of my own.

Drawing on my magic, I thrust back at Venora with all my might.