The Moon Witch

by Linda Winstead Jones

  Ryn found Birk playing kiva-ball not far from the busy market, wasting his time kicking the small soft ball to his friends...most of whom were younger than the adventurer. When Ryn called his name, Birk gave the kiva-ball a mighty kick and loped easily to Ryn.

  “I hear you returned with a red-haired queen tucked under your arm,” the young man said irreverently.

  Ryn was in no mood for banter. “She has requested a task of you.”

  Birk’s eyes widened. “Me?”

  “Kei Deverin of the Ancikyn Clan. Do you know him?”

  “Yes.”

  “My lady Juliet wishes to meet with him.”

  Even Birk knew better than to ask why. No one asked “why” of a queen. They simply obeyed. “I will leave immediately in search of Kei.”

  “My lady Juliet thanks you, for your service and for your discretion.”

  Birk nodded, understanding that this mission was to be a secretive one. Mission accepted, he gave Ryn a wicked smile. “What is she like, this new Queen of ours?”

  “Beautiful,” Ryn said. “Strong. Kind. Everything any man might want in a woman.”

  “Will you live in the palace? Are your rooms grand and wonderful?”

  Ryn walked away without answering the young man’s questions. Of course he could and should reside in the palace near Juliet. There he would live his life as her consort, her paramour, a man who rushed to her bed when she called and departed when she was done with him.

  If he found the demeaning role intolerable, he would break with Anwyn tradition and become a rogue, like Juliet’s father.

  Since the empress spent her nights in the emperor’s bed, she’d instructed that Isadora sleep in her old bed. The room was too luxurious for Isadora’s liking; the mattress too soft and the comforter too warm. She was accustomed to plainer, simpler things.

  She would do as Empress Liane wished, at least for now. The health and well-being of the imperial mother and child were now Isadora’s responsibility. She needed that—a purpose, a responsibility. The chore of protection might undo what the destruction had done. In time, perhaps her powers would grow strong again.

  One day she’d be reunited with Sophie and Juliet and she’d leave this cursed palace forever, but for now it was good to have a purpose beyond survival.

  Isadora had cast a simple protection spell around Empress Liane and her unborn son, and had taken to concocting a health potion for consumption each morning. The empress had protested at first. She was afraid of potions, and rightfully so. Isadora explained to her exactly what went into the brew. There was no magic in it, just herbs that would make the blood strong. To ease the mother-to-be’s fears, Isadora had taken to drinking the stuff herself. The potion was safe. In fact, it was beneficial for the mother and the child, even though it tasted bitter.

  Isadora stayed awake long after she should have gone to sleep, her mind taking her to places it should not go. The people of the small village who had suffered on her behalf, Juliet’s uncertain fate, Sophie’s whereabouts...so much to keep her mind active when she should be asleep. She had once been so in control of her life and now nothing was as it should be. Nothing.

  She leaped from the bed and rushed to the window, unable to sleep with her mind spinning as it did every night of late. A thick carpet kept her bare feet from feeling the chill. Winter was fully here, and she felt that winter to her bones. At the window, she tossed back the curtains and stared out at a clear, black sky filled with brilliant stars. She wished upon every one of those stars. With all that had happened, she had much to wish for. Freedom, safety, word of her sisters.

  But as always, she wished for what her heart most desired. Will. As she wished, she spoke the words of the spell that sometimes brought him to her and sometimes failed. She closed her hand into a tight fist, crumpling the curtain in her hand as she whispered the spell a second time. And a third. A tear slipped down her cold cheek.

  “This has to stop.”

  At the sound of that deep, familiar voice, Isadora turned to see Will sitting on the side of her bed. Her husband looked more solid, more real, than he had since the day he’d died.

  “You can’t expect me to stop calling for you.” She walked toward the bed, moving cautiously lest she disturb whatever forces had brought him to her. His short brown hair was neat and thick as it had always been; his clothes looked just as they had on that last day. They were a farmer’s clothes, simply cut and sturdy and without adornment. Will had not been the most beautiful man in Shandley, but he had been...no, he was...handsome and robust and good-hearted. Isadora had never known that a strong man could be kind and loving, but he had shown her that it was possible.

  “I can’t come to you anymore, Izzy,” he whispered. “I miss you, I wish I hadn’t left you when I did. When I came to you in the beginning, I only wanted to comfort you. But I should’ve stayed away when you called. Your summonses are keeping me stuck between the land of the living and the land of the dead, and—”

  Her heart caught in her throat. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “You didn’t.”

  Will patted the bed, and Isadora cautiously, very cautiously, sat. The mattress dipped. He put his arm around her, and she felt the touch. It was almost as if he were real. The weight was slight, the warmth was muted. But she did feel him, in a shimmer of sensation.

  “I did hurt you,” she said softly. “I killed you.”

  “You did not.”

  “By loving you, by ignoring the curse, I caused your death.”

  “It was worth it, to know your love for a while,” he responded.

  “No, it wasn’t,” she whispered.

  She wanted to lean against him as she had done in the past, but she knew he wasn’t substantial enough to support her weight, and she was terrified that if she fell into him, he’d disappear.

  “I have hurt other people.” Tears filled her eyes as she confessed. “Some of them deserved what they got,” she said angrily. “Others didn’t.” Those final two words were ripped from her throat, raw and low. “People died. I don’t regret the two that deserved it, but the others...I don’t think I’ll ever get the weight of their suffering out of my soul. What I’ve done, it made my magic weak. Killing those men robbed me of all but my simplest gifts.”

  She felt his hand in her hair. She felt it, like a spring breeze in the midst of winter.

  “Your gifts aren’t gone, Izzy, they’re sleeping while you decide.”

  “While I decide what?”

  Invisible fingers trailed through her hair. “Light or dark. Good or evil.”

  “Protection or destruction,” she whispered.

  “You can’t have both,” Will said. “Your power will grow strong again, once you have decided.”

  “I don’t want darkness,” she said. “I never wanted darkness.” And yet she knew it rested inside her, and always had. “How do I turn it back?”

  “I want to be here to help you, Izzy. I want to protect you and support you and love you and tell you what to do, but I can’t. It’s time for both of us to move on.”

  Her heart hitched “No. I don’t want to move on, not without you.”

  “You can have such a wonderful life,” he whispered.

  “Not without you.”

  She could not imagine living the rest of her life without Will in it, but she did understand what he was trying to say to her. This was the last time she’d see him, in this life. He wasn’t coming to her ever again. Not when she wished on a star, not when she cast a spell, not when she demanded that he return to her.

  “I don’t think I can live without you,” she whispered.

  “You can,” he said. “Everything is going to get better for you, I promise.”

  “Better?” She laughed bitterly. “How?”

  “I can’t tell you what’s to happen, Izzy. Life is a surprise.”

  Isadora scoffed aloud. She hated surprises. Her mother dying, Will dying, Sophie getting pregnant and running off with th
at damned rebel, she and Juliet being kidnapped, Juliet getting herself carried off by a wild man, being brought here...tonight...

  Will tipped her head back and up and kissed her, as he had done a thousand times when he’d been living. The kiss was faint, but it was warm and arousing and real. Oh, it fell so real. Isadora reached out and laid her hand on his chest, and she could feel him. In all the times she’d called him to her since his death, they’d never touched. Not once. Even now he wasn’t solid, but there was energy beneath her fingertips, energy like lightning that shimmered in the air before a storm.

  “All you have to do to find your magic and your happiness is to trust yourself,” he said.

  “I don’t, not anymore.”

  “The girl I loved never doubted herself, not for a minute.”

  “The girl you loved is as dead as you are.” Again, it was as if she felt him touching her, kissing her. “Is this a dream?” she whispered against his lips.

  “Yes and no,” he responded.

  “I want it to be real.”

  “Then it is.”

  Isadora stood slowly and drew her nightgown over her head, tossing it aside so that she stood before her husband naked. He smiled at her, as he so often had. No other man had ever loved her, no other man ever would. She lay upon the bed that no longer seemed too fine and too soft. Instead it seemed perfect, for tonight. For this.

  “Izzy, I can’t...”

  “I touched you,” she argued. “I felt you beneath my hand and on my mouth. You’re never coming back, I know that. But if I can just love you one more time.” She waited. Will would either disappear, or he would lie beside her.

  His lips brushed hers, faint, almost warm, filled with lightning. They shared soft, nibbling kisses, and a low heat that she had forgotten grew inside her. She had never thought to experience this again. It was desire and need. It was love.

  A winter chill brushed against her flesh, reminding her that the kisses did not come from a mortal man. But there was heat here in this bed. It began inside her and spread, through her midsection, into her limbs, into the mouth that kissed so gently. Instinctively she arched against the warm energy that hovered above her.

  She could not hold Will, so she grasped the fine sheet on the empress’ bed and arched her back to bring him closer. She needed this so much. Something beautiful, after years of knowing nothing but pain. Pleasure, to remind her that the world could still be a good place. Love, to prove to her that she did still have that emotion within her, to prove to her that what she’d felt when Will had been alive hadn’t been a fantasy. She could see Will’s shimmering shape, his face, his body. She had tossed her nightgown away but he remained the same, staunchly dressed in those clothes in which he had died.

  “I want you to make love to me,” she said softly.

  “I can’t give you what you want.”

  “You kissed me,” she argued.

  “But I am no longer a flesh-and-blood man.”

  “You feel...almost flesh and blood.” She said the words, and yet she knew they were wrong. She did not experience the heaviness and the heat of her husband atop her. She did not taste his sweat and feel his muscle and swallow his laughter, because he had none.

  But he was here. She felt Will’s lips against hers, still. She felt the warmth of his hands on her body.

  “I loved you so much,” he whispered. “I’ll miss you. Be careful, Izzy. Be happy.”

  “Don’t...” Before she could say go, Will was gone and she lay alone and cold in a bed that was too big for one woman. Her bare body very quickly grew chilled, but that wasn’t why she trembled to her bones.

  Juliet missed Ryn, but was hesitant to send for him again. He had not been pleased yesterday when she’d sent for him and tonight she had no excuse. He had surely already taken care of sending someone for her father.

  Her father. She wondered so much what he looked like, if he knew of her existence, if he would be glad to learn that his union with Lucinda Fyne had led to the birth of a child. A daughter who would be Queen, at least for a while.

  It was easy to let her mind wander over a late evening meal at this fine table. Queen Etaina was livelier than she had been when they’d first met. She was not only willing to step down from the throne and join her mate in death, she was looking forward to it.

  Her sons, all eleven of them, sat at the long table. They ranged in age from perhaps fifty years to what looked to be no more than twenty-five. Etaina’s eleven sons were pure Anwyn, the offspring of the Queen and an Anwyn father. Not the same father, Juliet’s finely tuned senses told her. Nine were the children of Queen Etaina and her mate. Two had been fathered by other men, which went against everything Ryn had told her about the way of the Anwyn. Then again, she had already learned that everything was different where the Anwyn Queen was concerned.

  All of the Queen’s sons had wives, attractive women who wore the finest jewels and gowns and did not contribute anything at all to the conversation. There were an insane number of grandsons and even great-grandsons about the palace, many of them well into adulthood, some of them mere children. They did not sit at the table, not tonight on this special occasion.

  These fine men made her wonder...if she and Ryn had children, would they all be sons? Would there be so many of them?

  The conversation was primarily about tomorrow’s ceremony that would make Juliet Queen, and the celebration that would come after. The festival would not take place immediately, but would begin a few weeks after the rites. It was quite a production, this welcoming of a new Queen.

  While others planned the celebration of her coming, Juliet poked at a piece of rare meat that dominated her plate. She liked Sophie’s chicken and dumplings better, and she would give her right arm for a piece of redberry pie. Of course, as Queen, she could command that the cooks in this palace learn to prepare the dishes she most enjoyed.

  She lifted her head when she heard her name called. Everyone was looking at her. Staring. Waiting.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I allowed my mind to wander a bit.” Had someone asked her a question?

  Queen Etaina saved her. “Understandable, considering all that has happened to you of late. I just asked if you would like to meet the priestesses tonight or if you would prefer to wait until tomorrow morning, before the ceremony.”

  “There are priestesses?” Juliet asked.

  Queen Etaina’s youngest son Janys, who sat to Juliet’s right, smiled and said, “Thirteen, all of them Anwyn brides who have been blessed by the Goddess Ranon.”

  “The Goddess Ranon,” Juliet repeated.

  “The fertility goddess,” he explained, a puzzled light in his gold eyes. “Surely you are acquainted—”

  “Juliet is acquainted with nothing of the Anwyn traditions, Janys,” Etaina interrupted. “She has been cheated out of her rightful heritage by circumstances over which she had no control. A few weeks of intensive instruction and she will know all she needs to know. I expect you boys to see to her instruction after I’m gone. Language, customs, history, religion. Even prophecies.”

  While a few of the Queen’s sons looked into their laps and cleared their throats in what seemed to be embarrassment, they agreed to a man to instruct Juliet as was necessary. There were no tears or laments over Etaina’s impending death. Not because they didn’t love their mother and their Queen. They did, very much.

  Watching the Queen’s sons sitting beside their wives, Juliet longed for Ryn in a way that had nothing to do with the passion they’d shared. He was her friend, and without him she was lonely and lost.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Ryn watched Juliet approach the sacred stone. She was anxious and unsure, but also determined and accepting and curious. He knew her well enough to understand it was that curiosity that had gotten her into trouble over the years.

  Everyone wanted to watch the coming of the new Queen, so the ceremony was held in the palace courtyard, where there was room for all to attend. The Heart of the
Anwyn, the sacred stone that invigorated this mountain and its people with magic, had been placed on an altar at the center of the courtyard and was surrounded on all sides by armed palace guards. If Ryn were not mated to the new Queen, he would be one of those guards.

  The morning sun was warm enough on Anwyn skin, but a light snow fell and the women of The City had dressed accordingly, in long woolen skirts and heavy cloaks. Juliet wore a sleeveless gown of shimmering gold that hugged her curves. Her hair fell in a riot of red curls over her shoulders and down her back. A few icy snowflakes nested in her hair and sparkled like tiny jewels. She wore no jewels or gold to detract from her simple beauty. As Queen she would be entitled to wear the royal jewels, but for now, while she was not yet quite Queen, her throat, ears, and fingers were bare.

  She had insisted that Ryn stand near the front of the crowd, so that she might reach out to him for comfort if she needed it, and of course since she had insisted, he had obeyed. Her eyes, still as much brown as gold, turned to him time and time again, but he did not see or feel an extraordinary nervousness in her. Her gaze held his and he saw and felt the strength she was discovering within herself.

  Tonight she would embrace the wolf. If anything scared her more than becoming Queen, it was the transformation that came with the acceptance of her place here. She feared the claws that would come from within. More than that, she feared the loss of control and the wildness the transformation would bring to her life. She did not yet know that the transformation would also bring joy, and freedom, and power unlike any she had ever known.

  Queen Etaina followed Juliet. Ryn had never seen the old woman with such a sense of serenity about her. She was usually quite brusque, even angry. But this morning she exuded a warmth and joy that radiated from her, making her old face seem radiant.

  It was no coincidence that this ceremony took place on the morning before the first full moon of this cycle. Beneath the full moon, the old Queen would embrace the wild aspect of her Anwyn self one last time. Tonight—perhaps tomorrow morning as the sun rose—she would join her mate in death, as she had wished to do for so long. Obligation had kept her alive as she’d awaited Juliet’s arrival, but now her obligation was done. Her personal guards would bury her in the hills where she had run as wolf and ruled as Queen.