The Moon Witch

by Linda Winstead Jones

  Her hopes for a normal existence were hers and hers alone; she had never shared them with anyone. Not even her sisters. Deep in her heart, Juliet Fyne, witch and seer, wanted nothing more than a small house somewhere. A place where she could make herbal remedies and help people with their problems without magic of any kind. She wanted to spend her days in her own mind, not peeking into the minds and hearts of others. She wanted to touch a neighbor’s hand without seeing their jealousy or bitterness or pain. Most of all, she wanted not to know what tomorrow would bring to those around her.

  Maybe it was selfish to wish her gifts away, but she didn’t feel at all selfish for wishing to be ordinary. After all, her power of sight hadn’t helped her when Ariana had been kidnapped or when she and Isadora had been taken and the cabin burned to the ground, so what good was such a gift? It had been a plague to her, nothing more.

  A small house. An herbal kitchen. A few patients. Babies.

  She watched Ryn’s back, and in spite of herself she wanted him again. Again and again and again. He stirred something unknown in her, something wanton and wild. And he certainly had the physical attributes any woman would find attractive. But did she want daughters who would be not only witches, but shape-shifters who grew into women who would become wolves for three nights out of each month?

  Ryn said he did not believe in or want love, and that suited Juliet well. Maybe if they approached their relationship as he suggested, as friends and companions and sexually compatible mates who never cluttered their hearts and minds with romantic love, the curse would not be effective. There was nothing in the Fyne Curse that she knew of to keep her from liking a man.

  Since she was keeping pace better today, it didn’t take long to catch up with Ryn once the rocky path widened a bit. “How can you be sure I won’t get pregnant?” she asked as she pulled up alongside him.

  “I just know.”

  “But—”

  “Anwyn are different.” He looked down at her as they continued to walk along the trail. “You do not want babies?”

  “Someday. Maybe.”

  “You do not want my babies.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “That is what you said.”

  The view from this path was breathtaking. A little farther to the north, a pristine snow covered the mountaintops. It seemed that from here she could see forever. “It’s just...it’s a little frightening to think of giving birth to children who will turn into wolves with the full moon.”

  “As I explained, our sons will not shift until they come of age and take the vow.”

  “What about our daughters?”

  His head snapped around, and after a moment he actually smiled. “Anwyn men make Anwyn men. That is why we must travel so far to fetch our wives.”

  “Well then, we have a problem, because Fyne women make Fyne women.”

  “That will change,” he said confidently.

  “I don’t think so.”

  After a few thoughtful moments, Ryn said, “Anwyn females are rare creatures. They are more than Anwyn, more than woman.”

  “So if we have a few daughters, they’ll be extra special,” Juliet teased.

  Ryn glanced at her briefly. “Anwyn females come into the world once every fifty years or so, and when they are of age, they become Queen.”

  “So, it’s the Queen who gives birth to these rare creatures of yours? Is that how the royal line is carried on?”

  “No. Any Anwyn male can sire this rare daughter. She becomes Queen simply because she is female. Anwyn daughters, Anwyn Queens, are more powerful than the males of our species or any other.”

  “So, the Anwyn Queen that awaits us is this rare, powerful woman?”

  For a moment, Ryn was silent. “Queen Etaina is old, and the new Queen has not yet arrived. It is past time for her coming, and the people wait anxiously. If Etaina dies before the new Queen comes, there will be war among those who believe they should rule in the absence of the Queen.”

  “Maybe it’s time for things to change in The City.”

  “Anwyn do not like change.”

  No, Anwyn were stubborn men who insisted on having things their own way at all times. But if they were at all like Ryn, they made up for that annoying trait in other ways. “Your male-dominant bloodline aside, I will have daughters,” Juliet said confidently.

  “I will have sons,” Ryn answered with matching conviction.

  It was a few minutes before Juliet realized that she and Ryn had talked about their future children, and she hadn’t once had a second thought or a shimmer of doubt.

  He should have known, but how could he have smelled the Anwyn blood in Juliet before it began to dominate? The Anwyn scent was his own, and so he had not caught even a hint of it when he’d first come across his mate.

  Maybe he was wrong. She was different from other women. Perhaps her gift for connecting to the earth caused her to absorb Anwyn traits from him, or even from the mountain itself. Maybe she embraced him so completely she took on his Anwyn qualities.

  If not for the prophecy, he might allow himself to believe that, for a while.

  Since long before his birth, there had been whispered tales of the red-haired Queen who would bring a time of peace and prosperity to the Anwyn. She would have the gift of sight, this Queen, a gift so powerful people would kneel before her in awe. Prophets had spoken of this Queen for such a long time, no one doubted that one day she would come.

  The Anwyn were a peaceful people. Only their continuing conflict with the Caradon kept them from an existence free of conflict. The Caradon were not organized, not even in warfare. They fought among themselves and attacked only in small groups, as was their nature. They did not trust even one another, and so they had never been a serious threat to The City.

  They had killed, though. They had killed many Anwyn over the years. Ryn’s own father had fallen in battle with a Caradon. His mother had died two moons later, heartbroken. Ryn had been only fifteen at the time, but he still remembered the pain and the hate. Pain at losing his parents; hate for the animal who had killed them both. Four years later, he had tracked that Caradon down, the scent from his father’s body too well remembered, and killed it.

  The peace the red-haired Queen was supposed to bring, the end to a conflict with the Caradon...according to the prophecy it came from her union with a Caradon male, a lover she would bring into her bed, the beast who would father her child, the first offspring of Anwyn and Caradon.

  If his instincts were right, Juliet was that red-haired Queen.

  He could not imagine allowing a Caradon to touch his wife in any way, but if she were Queen, he’d have no say in the matter. Queen’s consorts were useless, powerless males, called upon only when the Queen was in heat and a child was required. There would be no marriage. Her only vow would be to the Anwyn people she ruled. The Anwyn Queen was not like the captives who made such compliant, devoted wives. They ruled the Anwyn people, The City, their own lives, and their own bodies.

  From the tales he had heard, there was nothing quite so spectacular as an Anwyn Queen in heat. She could call any man to her bed to satisfy her, if she chose. And if she chose to turn her back on the Anwyn way and take a Caradon lover, her mate would be powerless to stop her.

  No. He would not be powerless. Peace or no peace, he would not allow a Caradon...or any other male...near Juliet. He did not care that she was Queen, that she was superior, that she would be his ruler in every way. She was still his woman, and in some ways he could not bow to her.

  He heard her running to catch up with him. While he’d been thinking, his stride had increased and had taken him too far away. He slowed his step until she came alongside him.

  “I cannot walk as fast as you,” Juliet said breathlessly.

  He stopped and swung her up into his arms, and she squealed and then laughed as he carried her up the trail at a quick pace. She was not tossed over his shoulder, as she had been when he’d first taken her, but caught in his
arms so he could see her face and feel her heart beating against his. Her arms snaked easily around his neck, and she held on tight.

  “What are you thinking of that makes you look so fierce?” she asked softly as he carried her toward home.

  “Do I look fierce?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  He took a few more long steps before answering. “I was thinking of the Caradon.”

  “The one you killed?”

  “All of them.”

  She stiffened slightly. “Do you sense others nearby?”

  “No. Like Anwyn, they change with the full moon, and all Caradon are more dangerous when in their cat form. As men they are cowardly and devious, and do not attack those who are stronger than they.”

  She relaxed. “You don’t care for the Caradon at all.”

  He looked into her eyes, studying the gold flecks that grew brighter and more dominant with each step toward The City. “I do not, and neither should you. The Caradon cannot be trusted, Juliet. They are dangerous, and dishonest, and if you let them come too near, they will rip out your throat and devour your eyes.”

  “Ew.” She shivered lightly.

  “I did not wish to frighten you,” he said in a softer voice.

  “Well, you did.”

  “My deepest apologies.”

  She leaned against him, relaxing and hiding her eyes from him. “Apology accepted.”

  “I will take care of you, Juliet.” he promised. “I will protect you from the Caradon.”

  “For now,” she said softly.

  “Always.”

  For once, she did not argue with him.

  It had been a long time since Liane had prepared herself for an evening with Sebestyen, but she had not forgotten how. Sitting before her vanity, she let her hair down and brushed it out until it shone. Sebestyen loved the gold and pale brown streaks that made her hair unique. When that was done, she dabbed a touch of perfume behind her ears. Not a flowery cologne, but a musk that screamed of sex. She hadn’t used face paint at all since becoming empress, but tonight she lined her eyes in black and put a touch of rose color on her lips.

  She was tempted to send for one of her old frocks, a sheer gown that would tell Sebestyen without doubt why she’d come to him, but that was not wise. She would have to learn to walk the line between being empress and lover. To Mahri and the sentinels and anyone else she saw in the hallways on her way to Sebestyen tonight, she had to be regal, empress and mother to the future ruler of Columbyana. To Sebestyen, she would be wife and lover.

  If she thought she could navigate her way through the secret passageways to his chambers, she would. But try as she might, she had not been able to find the hidden entrance Sebestyen had used, nor did she know the route to his chambers. Access to the emperor’s private rooms would be disguised well, and there might even be dangerous traps along the way. Besides, she did not wish to sneak her way into her husband’s bed. She would go to him as a wife should, head held high. And if she found him with another woman tonight? Her heart hitched and her mouth went dry. The other woman would go this time, and the wife would stay.

  Ferghus did not approve of her insistence that she be taken to her husband once again. He did not dare to suggest that she stay in her suite for the remainder of the evening, but cynicism narrowed his eyes and the set of his mouth. Everyone knew what a disaster her unannounced visit to Sebestyen had had been last time. But Liane insisted, and Ferghus grudgingly escorted her to Level One. They did not speak of Ryona, who—bathed and well fed for the first time in almost a year—rested in a soft bed on Level Three with her baby nestled at her side.

  Once again the sentinels were surprised to see her, and Taneli—the insolent sentinel who had been so happy to open the door on Sebestyen’s infidelity last time—actually snickered. Liane looked him in the eye. “Open the door.”

  “If you insist, my lady.”

  He knocked briefly, then opened the double doors with a flourish. Liane held her breath, until she saw that Sebestyen rested in his bed all alone.

  Her husband was surprised to see her. He sat up quickly. “What do you want?” he asked, as if her appearance was the greatest annoyance.

  Liane stood in the doorway. Tonight she was unafraid and she knew what she wanted. “I want many things, my lord. First of all, I would ask that you post this heathen in the furthest regions of the Northern Province.” She turned and smiled at the gloating Taneli. “He has insulted me for the last time.”

  “Done,” Sebestyen said, no warmth in his voice. “What else do you want? I’m expecting a woman to be delivered within the hour, and your presence will surely put a damper on our evening.”

  She didn’t flinch but looked him in the eye. And saw the lie.

  Liane turned to Ferghus. “If another woman dares to come to my husband’s room at such an inappropriate hour, kill her.”

  “Yes, my lady,” Ferghus answered with a twinkle in his eye.

  Liane turned away from the sentinels, stepped into her husband’s bedchamber, and slammed the doors shut.

  Sebestyen lifted his eyebrows slightly. “Kill her?”

  Liane smiled as she walked purposefully toward her husband. “It is a wife’s right, is it not?”

  “Not to my knowledge.”

  She stood by the side of the bed and stared down at Sebestyen. His long dark hair was loose and his features seemed sharper than ever, as if he’d lost weight. His eyes were tired.

  “From this night forward, if you want a woman beneath you or atop you or wrapped around you, it will be me.”

  “Liane, don’t embarrass yourself this way.”

  She held her left hand up for him to see, and she waggled the middle finger where a simple gold band glittered. “This ring says that if you fuck anyone at all, it will be me.”

  “That’s hardly proper language for an empress, Liane.” Sebestyen tossed back the covers and sat on the edge of the mattress. He wore a crimson robe suited for the cool nights. Another clue that he was not expecting a visitor from Level Three. When she’d come to him in the past, he had almost always been waiting for her naked. Saved precious minutes, or so he said. “Haven’t I made myself clear where this matter is concerned?”

  “No,” she said honestly. “You have not.”

  Sebestyen could, she supposed, take her by the arm and forcibly remove her from his presence. He possessed the physical strength she did not. He could toss her out of his bedchamber, and everyone in the palace would know that he truly and deeply did not want her.

  “For a while I believed that I understood you perfectly.” She unfastened the top two buttons of her gown, a robe-like frock that was much too adorned to be called a robe. “I bore you, I disgust you, you no longer want me in the way a man wants a woman. I thought I understood too well. And then you crept to my room in the middle of the night just to look at me.”

  “You’re mistaken,” he snapped. “I did no such thing.”

  Her fingers continued to work the buttons. “You sat there in the dark and all but told me that you cared for me and for our child.”

  “It was a dream.”

  “It was no dream.”

  This time he did not argue with her.

  Liane dropped her unfastened frock to the floor. Beneath it she wore nothing, and the swell of her belly was undeniable, but she was not ashamed of the change in her

  body. It was a miracle; it was magic. She would not be embarrassed by the physical signs of that magic. She sat beside Sebestyen and began to unfasten his robe, as she had on so many nights before they’d become man and wife.

  “You are no longer a concubine, Liane.”

  “No, but I am still a woman.”

  “I have told you—”

  “You don’t want me. My pregnancy disgusts you. There are a hundred women or more available to fill the place I once kept in your bed and you would rather have any one of them instead of me.”

  “Yes.”

  She slipped her hand insi
de his robe and grasped his erection. “Liar.”

  He had a way of catching her eyes with his and holding them, and he did that now. Blue eyes hooded and piercing, he did his best to stare her down. Down and out of his room and out of his life. It was a stare that sent many men running, but Liane didn’t run. She stroked. Sebestyen’s words and his eyes could lie, but his body could not. “I’m not going away.”

  “This is not proper behavior for my empress and the mother of my—”

  Liane pushed Sebestyen back onto the bed before he could finish his sentence. She straddled him quickly so that her legs and her body held him in place. He could push her off and away to be rid of her, but he didn’t. “If you expect me to behave like one of the women who preceded me on Level Five, then think again, my lord. They might’ve been your empresses, they might’ve lain beneath you when you commanded it in quest of a child, but they were not true wives to you.”

  “And you are?” he asked coldly.

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “What if I don’t want a true wife?” Sebestyen would not push her away physically, for fear of hurting the child she carried, but he had no problem with trying to push her away with harsh words.

  “How do you know what you want when you won’t even try?”

  He wanted her. He had always wanted her. For more than half her life, she had belonged to this man in one way or another. A slave, a lover, a soldier. A wife. She continued to undress him, while he lay inflexible and uncooperative beneath her. The robe unfastened and parted, and she tossed the folds back and away from his body.

  His face had seen the sun on occasion in recent weeks, but not his body. It remained pale and solid, and she ran her hands over the muscles there, more delighted than she had imagined she would be to touch him again. He was beautiful, in his own way.

  “We should make love on the balcony, by the light of day,” she said as she raked her nails over his skin. “I would like to see your body turned golden by the sun.”

  She did not intend to jump on her husband and have her way as if she were no more talented than the girl she’d caught him with not so long ago. Her hands caressed and teased, and she leaned forward to lay her lips on his shoulder and leave them there. Her belly rested against his, her soft breasts pressed to his hard chest. She breathed him in, closing her eyes and reveling in the familiar scent of his skin as her fingers and her tongue aroused.