by Amber Argyle
The other witches sang their barrier into place. Lilette could see a witch in the center, rising toward the sky. When the two of them were level, Lilette recognized her. It was Merlay. Even from this distance, Lilette could see her shake her head, pity in her gaze. “I have the most powerful witches in all of Grove City with me,” Merlay called out. “What chance do you stand against us?”
Lilette ignored the fear scrambling for purchase inside her. “I am meant to stop you.”
Merlay tipped back her head and laughed. “Time to teach you about real power.” She opened her mouth and a chant beat out.
Lilette ached to stop her, but the song she must sing required so much—she couldn’t risk lessening her reservoirs to fight Merlay. Lilette could do nothing as the clouds turned black, as lightning slammed down again, and again, and again.
The few people who’d been foolish enough to ignore the warnings to seek shelter cried out in fear and ran for cover. Lilette catalogued each scream, determined to make Merlay pay.
The wind picked up. Safe inside the barrier, Lilette wasn’t touched. But the wind scrubbed across the islands. Huts collapsed and blew out, scattering across the sea. Thunder boomed so loudly the world shook with it.
A wave as high as a mountain rose up in the sea. It rolled forward, crashing against the shore. Only the circle was safe. The wave tore through Lilette’s village, taking everything with it. Her only comfort was that she’d moved the villagers deep into the mountain in the center of the island. Hidden in an open air pit, they were vulnerable to the lightning, but safe from the wind and the earth tremors that were sure to come.
The tempest stilled. Head tipped to the side, Merlay watched Lilette. “Are you not even going to try to stop me? Not that you can, but I expected at least some resistance.”
Lilette used her witch sense—the song was close. So close. “Merlay, sometimes a fall is required to change our path. The witches will fall. I can’t stop that—I was never meant to. But I can delay our utter destruction until someone comes along who can rebuild us into something better.”
Merlay’s brows rose. “We are too strong to fall.”
A sad smile graced Lilette’s lips. “Everything falls.” Han had taught her that.
“After I’m through here, I will remove your songs from the very elements. It will be as if you never existed.”
Lilette was ready for this to be over. The darkness was waiting for her. So close. So tantalizingly close. Merlay’s gaze narrowed. “No more games. This ends now.” She sang again. The ground trembled.
In the circle below Lilette, the keepers were shook to the ground, but they held on and continued singing. She could see them down there and knew if she didn’t finish it, they would all die. She closed her eyes. And waited . . . waited. Now.
She opened her mouth. The storm stopped. The tremors stopped. Even Merlay stopped. There was no sound besides Lilette’s voice. Around the edge of the islands, the powder began to glow with purples and blues.
Lilette sang the veil up, up, up. But instead of growing in a column that shot into the sky as the barrier did, this curved into a dome. It was going to completely cut her off. She saw the realization come over Jolin as she gaped up at her. In order to hide the veil, Jolin had created it to be completely enclosed. And when Lilette moved the island, there would be nothing beneath her.
“No,” Jolin mouthed.
For such a brilliant woman, Jolin was sometimes rather obtuse. Lilette had realized her fate before she’d ever suggested the plan. “The witches needs a martyr,” her mother had said.
Lilette lifted her hand in farewell. Jolin cried out, and the veil warbled. Lilette couldn’t make out the words over the sounds of her own voice, but the lament was obvious.
She thought of her parents, her sister, of Han. All of them had died for her. No more. Never again. That was the pattern she had to break. That was the sacrifice she must make.
Not trusting herself to respond, she sealed the veil, making it self-sustaining. Then she sang storms and foreboding around it like a dark shadow—like Han. It would take a witch as powerful as herself to find it, let alone remove it.
Lilette’s voice holding steady, she sang a song to move the islands. In a flash of blinding light, they disappeared below her. She hadn’t taken them far—even she wasn’t strong enough for that. But they were far enough the keepers would never find them.
Water rushed in to fill the void left by the islands, dragging Merlay’s ship down with it. With an explosion, the water met in the middle and shot upward before rolling out in an enormous tidal wave.
Merlay and her ship were gone. Lilette wished she could say the same for the damage the woman had left behind. But that was not her battle. That battle was for another.
Lilette was alone, with nothing below her but leagues of water, shimmering like the surface of a mirror. She could continue singing, keep herself afloat until her voice grew thin and thready. But she refused to linger.
The darkness between the stars was waiting for her.
Epilogue
Lilette fell, shooting through the sky like a falling star. There was a brief, exquisite moment of pain. A flash blinded all her senses. She floated in a space of nothingness.
She became aware of the music first. Soft and haunting, it washed over her. Then everything rushed toward her, filling her with light and power and song and leaving the emptiness behind.
When the last of it throbbed beneath her skin, she opened her eyes to find Han standing before her. She gasped in the silence and reached out, touching smooth skin where his scar had been. She withdrew her hand, for he was beautiful, and she was afraid.
Then he smiled at her, and her sadness shattered in a thousand pieces. She leaned toward him and he gathered her in his arms. “Lilette.”
She closed her eyes, reveling in the sound of her name on his lips. Then a sob caught in her throat. “I wanted so badly to save them.”
He tipped her head back and kissed her gently. “You did.” His hand dropped down to take hers. Their fingers laced together. “Your sister, father, mother, even Fa—they’re all waiting for you.”
She turned toward the music with him by her side. And she knew that death was not the end. Only another realm—beautiful and perfect. Someday those she left behind would find her here.
***
Lellan had been right about the islands of Harshen. They remembered Lilette in their songs. With each passing decade, she became more powerful, more lovely. The actions of those around her were attributed to Lilette—from Jolin’s making of the song pendant, to her creation of the veil.
Among the keepers of Grove City, Lilette was spoken of with a hiss, for she was seen as the reason for the dissonance brewing around them. Then her name was blotted from the records, her song unwoven from the world. She was purposely forgotten. Merlay and the others were not. Records were changed to make it look as if they survived, as if the horrors they inflicted never happened. To this day, the witches refuse to take blame for those atrocities.
Over the long centuries, wars were fought. Keepers were taken captive and used for their powers. Thousands died. The keepers of Grove City broke into factions. The ramparts of Grove City crumbled. The thorns and trees burned.
Over time, the witches fell from the most powerful and revered entity on earth to the most hated and feared. Witches were no longer safe, for the world only wished to use them or kill them. Some of Jolin’s notes must have survived—probably protected by Bethel—for after Grove City was overrun and destroyed, Haven was moved to a newly formed country called Nefalie.
Creators are patient, but so much time had passed that Lilette began to doubt anyone could ever reunite the witches and return them to their former splendor. Unable to watch everything she’d hoped and worked for disintegrate, she turned away, focusing all her attention on the man who had taught her how to surrender.
But then someone called for her help. Lilette turned back and saw the world on the b
rink of collapse. Nature was a ruin of droughts, darkness, and floods. All the witches were captured. All but one—a young, untrained girl who had been hidden away by her mother.
A girl who had crossed oceans and fought armies.
Her name was Brusenna.
A Note from Jolin
I cannot guess how long the barrier will hold, so I have taken to ensuring that the people who remain with me are as strong as I can make them. All witches, wastrels or not, are learning the songs. If necessary, we can unite and wield a meager strength. Doranna is training a faction to fight—something that would have never been tolerated in Grove City.
Part of the weakness of our system of government was the total power the Heads held. I have spread that power out—giving equal power to the wastrels, who have formed into orders that serve their element in a different way.
But I knew these two groups would cancel each other out. There had to be a higher power—one who was as accountable to them, as they would be to her. A higher power that could be deposed with the unanimous vote of both these groups. So I invented the office of a listener. Instead of singing and controlling the world, she would listen to what the world and her people needed and act accordingly.
Both groups unanimously voted me into the position. I tried to maneuver myself out of it—I have no head for crowds, and I had already made so many mistakes. But they wouldn’t be dissuaded.
I threw away all my notes and books before I leapt into the sea after Lilette. I could rewrite them, I suppose. Begin the experiments again. But I will not. I will never again be part of creating something that can be twisted in such a way.
I cannot fathom what the Heads have done to Lilette’s name. Some part of me doubts they have made her a villain of unnamable horrors—it would mean admitting that someone was strong enough to shake their perfect world.
No. I suspect they will simply wipe her name from the records. Remove her song from the songs woven throughout the world—at least the ones they can reach.
As for Lilette—I hope that wherever she is, she can forgive me. I wrote her biography for her so people would know the truth, free of adornment or hatred. So that her sacrifice would not be forgotten.
THE END
# # #
Keep reading for bonus content from Amber’s latest book, Winter Queen.
Acknowledgements
Thanks go out to:
My awesome readers: JoLynne Lyon, Julie Slezak, C Michelle Jefferies, Melonie Rainwater, Lani Woodland, Cathy Nielson, Tiffany Farnsworth, and Rachel Newswander.
My fellow artists: Laura Save, Devon Dorrity, Kathy Beutler, Linda Prince, Mark Penny, and Robert Defendi for using your artistic talents to enhance mine.
My amazing family: I love you!
About the Author
Amber Argyle grew up with three brothers on a cattle ranch in the Rocky Mountains. She spent hours riding horses, roaming the mountains and playing in her family’s creepy barn. This environment fueled her imagination while she was writing her debut novel.
She has worked as a short-order cook, janitor, and in a mental institution, all of which gave her great insight into the human condition and has made for some unique characters.
She received her bachelor’s degree in English and Physical Education from Utah State University.
She currently resides in Utah with her husband and three young children.
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Winter Queen
1. Clan Mistress
Ilyenna’s horse danced nervously beneath her, the animal’s hooves clicking against the snow-covered stones that coated the land like dragon eggs. Reaching down, she patted her mare’s golden neck. “Easy, Myst. What’s the matter, girl?”
“There.” Her father pointed at the base of a forested hillock not fifty paces beyond the road. Ilyenna saw the shadowed form of a large animal.
Bratton soundlessly pulled an arrow from his quiver and nocked it. “Bear?” He directed the question at their father.
The word stirred currents of tension in Ilyenna’s body. The cold stung her cheeks and formed a vapor no matter how shallowly she breathed. As she glanced up and down the road, her hand gripped the knife belted around her bulky wool coat.
“I think it’s a horse,” Bratton finally said.
Ilyenna eased her mare forward for a better look. It was a horse—a bay. “Then where is his rider—” The words died in her throat when she spotted a motionless gray lump at the horse’s feet. Without thought, she rammed her heels into her mare’s ribs.
“Stop!” her father cried at the same time Bratton called, “Ilyenna!”
But the healer in her couldn’t be denied. In three of the horse’s strides, she was in the forest. She pressed herself flush against Myst’s muscular neck. Still, larch trees managed to slap her, leaving the sharp scent of their needles in her hair and clothes. Clumps of snow shook loose from their sagging boughs, falling across her horse’s mane and into her face. Yet Ilyenna barely registered the icy shock.
The other horse shied away. Myst tossed her head and balked, but Ilyenna didn’t have time to hesitate. She jumped from the saddle, and her heavy boots sank into drifts up to her thighs. Grateful for her riding leggings, she struggled toward the man, whose face was blue with cold.
Her heavy riding skirt spread around her as she knelt beside him. Strangely, even in this frigid weather, he wore no coat. Beneath him, the white snow was stained crimson. An arrow shaft stuck out of his left side, and his mouth was coated with bloody foam.
A quick assessment revealed the arrow head had passed completely through his chest, but the shaft was still lodged inside him. Ilyenna couldn’t imagine riding in that kind of pain. Each of the horse’s strides would’ve reopened the wound and spilled more blood.
Fear rose in Ilyenna’s gut, and she wondered what had driven this man to ride himself so close to death. The lump rose higher when she recognized the knots in the stranger’s clan belt. “An Argon,” she announced as her brother and her father reined in behind her. Instantly, her mind went to the Argon clan, and her brother’s best friend, Rone.
At the mere thought of the boy from her childhood, a hundred memories came unbidden. Memories she wished to banish forever. But over the last six years, that had proven impossible. She bit the inside of her cheek, forcing herself to concentrate as she pulled her sheepskin-lined mittens from her hands and probed the man for additional wounds.
“You can’t just run off,” her brother growled as he dropped beside her. “What if his attacker was still here?”
Ilyenna kept her expression neutral. Even though she was seventeen, her brother would never see her as anything but a child—one incapable of caring for herself, let alone their clan. Thankfully, the calm sureness that always accompanied her healing steeled her voice. “He’s not breathing well. Get him on your knees.”
Despite his obvious annoyance, Bratton quickly obeyed.
“Why would an Argon appear in Shyle lands with an arrow in his side?” she murmured as she worked to stop the bleeding.
Bratton’s grip tightened around his axe hilt as his gaze probed the forest. “Only Raiders would attack the clans.”
Ilyenna suppressed a shudder at the mention of the Raiders, men who survived by pillaging and enslaving those they conquered.
“Raiders don’t come this far inland,” her father said. He handed his coat to Ilyenna, who draped it over the man. Her father pointed to the arrow that rose and fell with each of the Argon’s labored breaths. “Besides, I saw a Raider’s arrow as a boy. This isn’t one.”
“Then whose arrow is it?” Bratton asked.
Ilyenna eyed her brother carefully. There was something odd about his expression, as if he suspected more than he was saying.
<
br /> Her father frowned. “It looks clan made.”
Neither Ilyenna nor Bratton had a response for that. It was an impossible thought. The Clans didn’t fight among themselves; they banded together to fight against outsiders. Pressing her ear to the injured man’s chest, she listened to a sound like the gurgling of a gentle stream. She sat back on her heels. “His lungs have filled with blood. He’s drowning.”
Even as she said it, the urge to fight against death pulled at her, though she knew all too well how useless fighting it was. All things served the Balance. Life and death were no different. Though Ilyenna’s calling was to battle for life, without death, there would be no birth.
Her father bent down and gently shook the man’s shoulder. He moaned softly before settling back to his labored breathing. The death rattle. Her father looked at her questioningly. “Should we take him to the clan house?”
She shook her head. “You know he won’t make it.”
With grim determination, her father leaned over the man and shook harder.
Had something happened to the Argons? To Rone? Ilyenna had to know. She applied pressure where the wounded man’s thumb met his palm. His lids fluttered, revealing the whites of his eyes. She pinched harder. His eyes opened wide.
“Who did this to you?” Ilyenna’s father asked.
The Argon’s gaze focused on his face. It was clear he didn’t understand.
