by Donna Grant
“You might kill me, but you’ll never get the bone.”
“Oh, I know I’ll have it.”
He grinned. “You can certainly try.”
His words lost their edge when his knees buckled, and he dropped to the ground. Quickly, he said a healing spell, hoping it would conserve some of his strength. He knew it couldn’t help much, but all he needed was more time.
Sybbyl didn’t come to him, however. He’d been hoping that she would make her way to him so he could attack her again. Going to her would take the last of his energy. He glanced at the sky to see the first streaks of blue scattered amid the clouds as the night lost its hold.
“And you thought you stood a chance against me.” Sybbyl laughed, the sound echoing through the forest. “A warlock with one bone. Once again, I’ve proven the might of the Coven. After I kill you and take your bone, I’ll wipe the Gira out. Then, I’ll go for the Varroki.”
“You’ll never find them.”
“I always find what I’m looking for.”
He simply smiled in response.
Her gaze narrowed on him. “Why are you grinning?”
“Look behind you,” he told her as Malene, Jarin, Helena, Armir, and two other couples fanned out around Sybbyl.
27
Runa knew she was dying, and there was nothing she could do about it. Nothing but stifling, oppressive inky blackness surrounded and clung to her. She couldn’t move to shake it off. While she couldn’t see anything, she could sense the darkness piling on her, filling her from the inside.
She wanted to scream and claw her way out of it. Why wasn’t anyone helping her? Where was Brom? He couldn’t be dead. Her mind simply couldn’t imagine that Sybbyl had bested him. But, deep inside, she knew that was probably the case. Brom was strong, or at least that’s what she thought.
She understood very little about the magic of witches and warlocks, at least not enough to compare Brom and Sybbyl. All Runa had known going into this was that as long as she had the sword, and Brom had his bone, they had a slim chance of besting Sybbyl. But she had lost the sword. Runa recalled the heavy weapon tipping out of her numb fingers.
Had Brom gotten to it? He had been closest to the weapon. She hoped he had reached it. If not, if the worst had happened, and Sybbyl had three bones. Unless…Brom hadn’t let her know he was a warlock or had a bone.
Runa thought about Brom. Determined, stubborn, honest, trustworthy. He never would’ve stood by and let the witch take the sword without a fight. As much as Runa hoped Brom had let Sybbyl go, she knew that wasn’t him. He would’ve stood up to the witch and shown her that he was a warlock.
For all Runa knew, they were still battling it out. She couldn’t see or hear anything. Or feel anything. She pretended as if she were in Brom’s arms because that was the only way she could face her death.
“Runa.”
The voice was wispy, like the clouds she used to watch as a child. She frowned, wondering where it had come from. She didn’t recognize it. Nor could she determine if it was male or female.
“Runa.”
This time, it was louder, allowing her to hear the feminine tone, though deeper than most. What she noticed then was that it was soft and soothing. She wanted to answer, but her lips wouldn’t move.
“All will be well. Trust us.”
Us? Who the hell were these people? And what did they want with her?
Dread pooled within Sybbyl as she stared at the eight people behind her. Her gaze went to Braith, who held the Blood Skull. Trepidation the likes of which Sybbyl hadn’t experienced since she was a small child filled her.
All her plans had revolved around her gaining as many of the First Witch’s bones as possible and taking out the Varroki before she went after the Blood Skull. And now, the Warden, along with his Hunter wife, Leoma, had come to her with the skull.
Sybbyl used the time to use a healing spell to mend the injury Brom had given her. It had been a lucky shot, one that shouldn’t have gotten through, but it had. There was no way she could face the others in her present condition. At least the injuries Helena had given her were mending.
Her gaze landed on Ravyn and Carac. The couple had survived, despite everything she’d done to try and end them. At least she had come out ahead with the Staff of the Eternal. The staff had given her the upper hand and allowed her to take over leading the Coven.
Helena and Jarin were beside the other couple. Sybbyl was pleased that they were here. The witch and the warlock had gotten away from her, but she still intended to take their child and raise it as hers. Along with the other bones. Having the Heart of the First Witch was nearly as powerful as the Blood Skull. Sybbyl would have them all eventually.
And then, she would be unstoppable.
Her gaze swung to the middle of the group, where a petite woman stood next to a tall, imposing—and very handsome—warrior. The woman’s flaxen hair had three small braids from her temples to her ears on either side that were then woven into one large plait. The man had golden hair gathered at the back of his head with a leather strip. More leather held the long length every few inches until the end. But, even more curiously, his head was shaved on either side, showing various tattoos.
“Who are you?” she demanded of the male and the female.
The woman lifted her chin. “I’m Malene, Lady of the Varroki.”
“Interesting.” No doubt, the man beside her was a warlock. Sybbyl couldn’t help but inwardly smile at the knowledge that at least three Varroki males were within her grasp. Her witches would be pleased to have some fun with the men. After she chose which one she wanted for herself, of course.
Malene said, “You have one chance. Lay down the sword and staff. Otherwise, we’ll strike you down where you stand. You see the Blood Skull. You don’t stand a chance against us.”
“I disagree,” Sybbyl said. “If you believed all you needed was the skull to end me, you all would’ve done it weeks ago. Not even a village of witches could stop me when I destroyed Edra’s abbey and all within. You eight are nothing.”
The Varroki beside Malene quirked a brow. She looked at him, wondering what he would be like as a lover. Perhaps she’d keep all three to herself for a while. After all, she deserved to have some fun.
She knew that she had the power, but she couldn’t dispel the dread that continued to rise within her like the tide. It had to be the appearance of the skull. Yes, that’s what it was. Just the Blood Skull. Sybbyl had faced all but Malene and the Varroki before. Some of them might have gotten in some good strikes, but in the end, she held two of the First Witch’s bones. She had taken out the Hunters. She had united the Gira.
Yet, she couldn’t help but recall Brom’s words from earlier about how the bones would go against her. She wasn’t entirely sure if what he’d said was a lie. After all, how long had the voice in her head made her doubt herself and her plans? Brom said that Trea had led him to find the bone. If he had spoken the truth, then maybe he was right. Perhaps the bones didn’t want her in control.
Then again, they didn’t really have a choice. She had them now, was the one commanding them. If the First Witch really wanted to make certain Sybbyl and the Coven didn’t rule, she wouldn’t have let any bones fall into Sybbyl’s hands. The exact opposite had happened.
And in her eyes, that meant she was exactly where she was supposed to be. The dreams she had aspired to as a young child were within reach. Already, she had claimed so very much. Soon, she would sit on a throne where everyone bowed to her.
She glanced over her shoulder to Brom, who was still on his knees, looking weaker and weaker by the moment.
“Did you come to talk or to fight?” Sybbyl asked the eight.
Leoma said, “We’ve come to fight you and everyone who stands against us.”
“Then you’ve come to die.” Sybbyl shrugged, twisting her lips as she did. “Then again, all of you were destined to die by my hand anyway. I’ve already faced some of you,” she said, looking poi
ntedly at Ravyn and Carac and Helena and Jarin.
Carac issued a loud snort. “You say that as if you won against us.”
“I am the one holding the staff,” Sybbyl pointed out.
Ravyn lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “That will soon be remedied.”
“Now you sound like Brom. Look how he fared against me.” Sybbyl smiled.
Jarin jerked his chin to her. “Looks like he drew blood.”
“Same as I did,” Helena replied.
Malene moved forward a step. “And now it’s my turn.”
Sybbyl wished she knew more about the Varroki. What little she knew, she’d heard as rumor throughout her life. She wasn’t sure what was truth and what wasn’t. But the way Malene stood, it spoke of someone who was either extremely powerful or foolish. Sybbyl wished she thought Malene was foolish.
There was something about the way Malene watched her. As if she knew all of Sybbyl’s secrets. Or maybe it was that Malene knew the secrets of the universe. Either way, it sent a chill running down Sybbyl’s spine. In any other event, Sybbyl would’ve exited and lived to fight another day. Unfortunately, she had set things in motion for just this moment.
Granted, she had expected to fight those before her, though not how they stood now. Regardless, she had known she would meet extremely commanding and formidable enemies on the field. So what if the Blood Skull was here now? It would’ve happened eventually.
Once more, Sybbyl became aware of the silence of the voice in her head that had been so prevalent and incessant before. Something was wrong. Very, very wrong. Though she couldn’t seem to figure out what it was.
Regardless, she had the Staff of the Eternal and the sword. That would be enough to counter whatever came her way.
“Brom.”
The voice in his head startled him. He’d been focused on healing his wound so he could fight Sybbyl. His gaze moved around him, looking for someone but Sybbyl and the others. But there was no one.
“Do not fear us.”
“Who are you?” he whispered.
“When the time is right, you’ll know what to do.”
He frowned, thoroughly confused. “I’ll know to do what?”
But there was no answer.
Asrail hurried to Synne and Lachlan. When she reached them, she grabbed their wrists and pulled them back from the edge of the loch.
“What are you doing?” Synne asked.
Asrail cut her a look to silence her words. “Keep your voice low.”
Lachlan’s brows drew together. “Asrail, what’s going on?”
“You need to get far from the loch.”
“Why?” Synne asked.
Asrail glanced at the water to see it begin to ripple. “The balance is about to be restored. You need to get as far from here as you can. There isn’t time to tell you more.”
“Come with us,” Lachlan urged.
Asrail smiled sadly before she turned to Synne and enfolded her in an embrace. “I cannot. Know that you and Runa were loved more than either of you will ever know. Your friends are up on the mountain. Hurry,” she said and gave Synne a slight push.
Her granddaughter’s confused look was like a knife in the heart. Lachlan seemed to realize the urgency to get moving. He took Synne’s hand and started walking away. Asrail wanted to go with them more than anything.
Synne looked back at her and held out her hand, silently urging Asrail to go with them. She looked at the water, then back at Synne and Lachlan as they headed out of the camp. For the first time in her life, Asrail had the opportunity to think of herself. It was the first time in so very long, that she wasn’t sure what to do.
She took a small step after Synne, whose face split into a smile. Asrail looked at the loch again. The water had gone as still as glass once more. The decision was now out of her hands. All she could hope for was that Lachlan got Synne out before it was too late.
Elin kept putting one foot in front of the other. She couldn’t remember when she had stopped running from the Coven, Hunters, and Varroki. One day, she simply turned around and began a trek to…she didn’t even know where she was headed. The thought had simply filled her mind to go toward a destination, and she’d been unable to ignore it.
For all she knew, she was going to her death. It’s what she deserved after what she had done to Synne, Lachlan, and the Varroki. She wanted to cry for giving in to Avis’s promise. Elin could say that she was lonely and wishing for her family, but it was only an excuse. She knew Avis better than anyone, and it had been folly to believe anything her sister said. Especially when her sibling had promised her that they could be a family again.
Avis had always known just what to say to get anyone to do what she wanted. Elin had never fallen for that. Until this last time. She felt used and betrayed. Worse, she had set her sister free to wreak havoc on the Varroki. She didn’t even want to think about what Avis had done to Lachlan and Synne.
Elin hated that she’d been too much a coward to stay behind and face the consequences of her actions. But after she’d set Avis free, her sister had embraced her. Elin hadn’t foreseen the spell that knocked her unconscious. When she woke, she realized what Avis had done, and she started running.
Elin should’ve gone to tell Malene and Armir what’d happened. She should’ve gone to check on Synne and Lachlan. More than anything, she should’ve seen if Avis was still in the city so she could stop her.
At the very least, Elin should’ve gone after her sister.
Instead, she’d run from everything and everyone. What a coward she was. She didn’t even want to imagine what Asrail would think of her. If the Gira was even still alive. Elin hadn’t even tried to find her. What could she do, after all? She was simply a witch the Coven would force to join them or die. It wasn’t as if Elin could fight against the Coven. But she should’ve.
Even if Avis had gotten the sword from Lachlan, Elin should’ve gone after her. It would’ve meant Elin’s death, but she would’ve at least chosen a side.
Elin paused beside a tree in the forest and put her hand on the trunk. She was so tired. Tired of running, tired of hiding, tired of…everything. Her weakness had tipped the scales toward evil. All because she missed her sister and the time when they had been a family.
One way or another, Elin would make things right. She wasn’t sure how just yet, but she’d find a way. Somehow.
A sound jerked her head up. She couldn’t tell which direction it had come from. The sunrise was lighting the forest, though not quickly enough. The deep snow made walking difficult. Her skirts were soaked, and even her boots were damp, making her toes numb.
Elin glanced behind her, then started walking again. She trudged up the mountain, using trees and boulders to aid her when the climbing got rough. When she saw a stream, she stopped beside it and cupped her hands in the icy water for a drink. The frigid temperature hurt going down, but it had been a long time since she’d eaten or had anything to drink.
That made her frown. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had food. Or slept through the night. Yet, she didn’t feel hungry at all.
The trickling water shifted until a shape took form. Elin sat back on her heels when she found herself looking into a face made out of water.
28
Malene suddenly realized that she hadn’t been chosen as Lady of the Varroki to take her people into a new age. She hadn’t been chosen because she had the most to give or the most power. She was Lady because she was supposed to stand against Sybbyl and end the reign of terror the Coven had over the land.
For so many years, Malene had wished to leave Blackglade and venture out into the world. Now, as she stood on the icy mountain, all she wanted was the warmth of her tower and hours of conversation with Armir. She wasn’t sure she would get either again. She wouldn’t change things even if she could because she knew that, in the end, the balance had to be restored, no matter what. If that meant her sacrifice, then so be it.
She lowered her gaze to the g
round before she looked at Armir. Their gazes met, bolstering her spirit. He had trained her tirelessly. He hadn’t gone easy on her because he knew she had little time to prepare and a lot to learn. Malene wished she had another month. Even another day. But their time was up.
Everything that’d happened over the last few years had come down to this moment. She wanted to believe that good would triumph over evil, but evil had managed to win too many times before. It couldn’t this time. The stakes were too high.
Malene gazed into Armir’s soft green eyes. She wished she were brave enough to tell him how much he meant to her. She had no fear in her regarding standing up and facing Sybbyl or the Coven, but she was terrified of telling Armir her feelings. Mainly because she didn’t want to lose him as a friend. And if he didn’t return her affections, then she would, in fact, lose him. To her, that was a fate worse than death.
Because Armir had always been there for her in some form or fashion. In her darkest moments, for her greatest accomplishments, and during her loneliest days. He was the anchor in the stormy chaos of her life. If it hadn’t been for him, she never would’ve made it. She understood that now.
How she had hated his stoicism at first. It hadn’t been until she saw beneath his apathetic nature that she found the man beneath. There was so much more to Armir than anyone knew. He was loyal, direct, honorable, and sincere. His love of his people and Blackglade was evident in everything he did.
And he didn’t get nearly the credit he should.
She shut her mind to Armir and her irrational feelings. Malene closed her eyes and waited until her head was clear before she looked at Sybbyl. Then Malene opened herself up to the magic coursing violently through her. She’d always held it in check, afraid of what might happen if she released it.
The only time she’d come close was when she’d bent the pillars at the top of her tower. She’d held back even then because she wasn’t sure what would happen if she released all of her magic. She still wasn’t sure, but if there was ever a time to find out, this was it. All she could hope for was that her friends would be safe.
