Witch-born

by A. J. Maguire

  "You may ask your question," three voices, young and old and calm.

  "How does it end?" Her mouth was suddenly dry, her internal magic humbled by the power that came off the form in front of her.

  The Fate's physical form settled on the Crone.

  "Which ending are you looking for, Delgora? Every day ends with a sunset, every year with a winter, every life with a death."

  "My fight against the Dellidus," Elsie clarified. "How will it end?"

  There was a long moment before the Crone smirked. "It will end exactly as it is intended."

  "That's it? That's all you have to offer me?" Her Talent flared in anger. "I am supposed to find peace in that? My sisters ashes are not seven feet away, and you want to give me riddles?"

  "What was it you were looking for?"

  "Confirmation. Anything to show me that this wasn't all in vain. Something to prove that Bryva's life had some meaning behind it."

  Fate changed then, her features smearing like watered-down clay until the face of Mother revealed itself. Elsie felt her magic calm itself.

  "Some would argue that to fight an evil is to achieve the highest honor," Fate said. "Is there no comfort for you that even this moment was meant to be?"

  "So I am supposed to find freedom in my own doom?" Elsie let her bitterness show, scowling up at the Fates.

  The Mother smiled now, warm and amused. "If you did not wish to know your destiny why did you ask for it?"

  ***

  Dorian made his way down Tourney Street with his father and Winslow on his heels. The tragic events of the evening had spurred a great deal of commotion within the Warders. One day he might thank his father for the efficient, swift manner in which Elsie's involvement with the arms deal was covered up. Those Warders who were closest to the action and understood the truth of the matter were sworn into silence within seconds. Lord Lorant had agreed to the secrecy as well, though there had been something slightly off in the mans demeanor.

  While Dorian was dubious to the idea of anyone, Talented or Untalented, keeping their oaths he could not think of any better course of action. The entire night was spent packing away the illegal arms, debriefing the seller - who maintained that he had never seen the Bedim who had informed him of Elsie Delgora's existence - and working hard to keep civilian eyes out of the matter. Rumors had happened, of course. Society was nothing if not swift with gossip but thus far all that was known was that a woman had died.

  Winslow had worked through the night without saying much of anything. He spoke only when spoken to and answered with no embellishments. This was a distinctly different side of Winslow Agoston and it nagged at Dorian's mind. As he marched up the Feverrette House path, he came to the understanding that his friend really had been in love with Bryva Gelgova. Though the logical side of his mind wanted to debate how true love could be found within a matter of three weeks, the softer side of his personality could see the parallel between Winslow with Bryva and Elsie with himself.

  Dorian pounded on the door three times and waited.

  Within moments the door opened and Gaetan Feverrette eyed him with the most unwelcoming of smiles. "The house is closed."

  "Get out of my way, Gaetan. I need to see Caresse." Dorian fought hard to maintain his patience.

  "The house is closed," Gaetan repeated, "Most especially to you."

  Dorian felt his Talent rise with his fury and knew that if the situation was not diffused shortly he would end up beating his older brother half to death. Rorant grabbed his elbow in a calming gesture that made no impact at all. Gaetan smirked down at him, smug and uncaring and still not moving out of his way. And then his stepfather's voice came through the doorway, calling Gaetan to step back. His brother scowled and threw Aubin Feverrette a mutinous look before the older man could come fully into view.

  "I said step back you sod," Aubin glared Gaetan down until the boy cowed and sulked into the recesses of the house. Then he turned and faced the three on his doorstep with all the unsmiling countenance of a bear awakened in the dead of winter. His face had a premature sag to it, as though the years weighed down so much that everything about him drooped. His eyes made dramatic creases as they settled on Rorant. "Must be damned important then," he assessed and turned to allow them inside.

  "I need to see Caresse," Dorian announced. "There isn't a moment to lose."

  "Yes, I heard," Aubin took the fire poker and began shoving it at the fireplace. The morning fire was taking its time rousing and the seep of night air still hung cold in the room. " I sent Bartholomew to get her."

  "Thank you." Dorian moved further into the room and prayed his sister would understand the urgency.

  "You look like someone kicked your favorite puppy, Lord Agoston," Aubin glanced at Winslow.

  "The woman I loved was murdered last night," Winslow stayed unmoving in the doorway. There was a stillness to his voice that bothered Dorian.

  "That Untalented?" Aubin's broad forehead creased in a mix of surprise and concern. "You barely knew her."

  "I knew her well enough to know that Magnellum is a lesser place without her," Winslow snapped. Then his eyes cast to the floor, restless with the pain of loss.

  Just as Dorian thought the moment could get no worse Bartholomew entered the room looking rumpled and barely awake. Behind him Caresse pushed her way through, her face brightening when she spotted him.

  "Dorian!" she beamed and hurried to embrace him.

  He held his sister for a moment, feeling her slight bones under his arms and wishing the girl weighed a few extra pounds. He'd always compared her to a bird, flighty and small and easily breakable. Though, of course, she was not as breakable as one might assume given her form. Appearances were terribly deceiving when it came to his sister.

  "I need you to track someone for me, sister," he pulled out of the embrace.

  Caresse blinked at him once in surprise. "Track someone?"

  "It's important."

  "Tracking spells are dangerous. They take a great deal of Talent," Aubin frowned at them. "Your mother would not approve."

  "Mother would approve of trying," Caresse argued.

  Aubin's jaw flexed with his disagreement, but he held his tongue. After a long, charged silence he nodded and turned to face the fireplace. Caresse exhaled through her teeth and gathered his arm in her hands. With gentle command she led him out of the drawing room and back into the library. Bartholomew, Rorant, and Winslow followed, leaving Aubin to tend the fire. For a moment Dorian felt a pang of regret for his stepfather.

  Caresse closed the library door, retrieved her candles and a bag of salt from the desk and began to set up her circle. "I imagine you are going to explain why I am doing this?"

  "It's a bit of a long story," Dorian moved to help set the candles in place. "Fate brought me to a woman."

  "And you love this woman?"

  "That's a rather fast assumption," Dorian grunted.

  "You would not come to me if your heart was not involved in something, Saldorian Feverrette."

  "Yes, he loves her," Winslow said.

  Dorian frowned at him. "I haven't known her but four months."

  Winslow muttered a curse, "Stop fighting it, Dorian. You don't know how long you'll have her for."

  The brutal honesty in his friend's voice took him off guard.

  "He's right, Son," Rorant moved forward. "Your Talents are feeding off each other, Dorian. Growing. That isn't something that comes from an emotionless relationship."

  "Lorelei would not fault you for having a life, Dorian," Bartholomew said.

  "Fates, now you're all against me?"

  "They're not against you, Dorian," Caresse took his hand and pulled him into the circle. "They're just trying to help you acknowledge the situation. Now," she knelt and directed him to sit in front of her. "Take a deep breath."

  For all the love he had for his sister Dorian knew the significant difference between Caresse's Talent and that of Elsie Delgora. Of course he'd tasted the leve
l of power that Elsie had at their first kiss but seeing the comparison was humbling. That was not to say Caresse's magic wasn't impressive. His sister had a deeper, more traditional understanding of what her Talent could do, and she wielded it with complete focus.

  The circle flared to life at Caresse's command and the search began. Salt and fire blended until other visions could be seen, visions of places and people all whirring by them as Caresse took three steadying breaths. The chaotic swirl did not stop as Caresse opened her eyes to look at him.

  "I need to know her as you do, Saldorian. Help me understand her," she said.

  Though the request was made in a whisper Dorian could feel her voice rumble with Talent. He'd been expecting this question. It was part of the ritual. Still, he struggled for an answer.

  What was it to really know someone, to recognize their soul rather than their face? How did one convey that sort of knowledge?

  "To understand Elsie you must first understand where she comes from. And by that I mean her history, not her geography. Her parents were murdered when she was very young. To keep her safe she was hidden with a servant's family and raised there, ignorant of her true identity until her magic began to surface."

  The circle began to slow. Visions became clearer, and Dorian understood his sister's search tactic. She was focusing on humble places, servant quarters, alleyways and dark places.

  "She is in mourning for Bryva, who she counted as a sister."

  Graveyards began to pass through the circle and his Talent whispered something to him. It took a moment for Dorian to focus on it but he caught on. "No," he said out loud. "Not as the Untalented do."

  His sister gave him a troubled look before concentrating on the search again. The traditional burning stones filtered across the circle - large flat slabs of granite reserved for the passing of the Talented and all of them untouched in years.

  "Not so public. She would draw inward. She would not go to any place where she might be found."

  Mountain peaks began to flash across the circle, slowing down as either the search narrowed or his sister's Talent began to wan. Concern for his sister almost called him back. Then he saw Elsie standing alone on a precipice, a large charred pit directly before her. The image froze. He could feel her pain from inside the circle, it reached out to his magic, urging him forward.

  Dorian took a step closer to the rim of the circle.

  "Saldorian," Caresse whispered from behind him.

  He turned to look at her and regretted it. She was almost completely drained, her body swaying in exhaustion.

  "Be careful, Saldorian," Caresse whispered again, her brow pinching in concern. "I sense something dangerous out there."

  "I am always careful, Caresse," Dorian said. There was not enough time for anything else. If his sister kept the circle up for any longer, she would drain herself completely. He gave her a quirky smile and stepped through the circle's rim.

  Fire and salt pelted his body as he crossed, dragging a shout of protest from him as his magic began to take over. Passing through the rim of a circle was not like a transportation spell. It was painful in a way that even his teeth became sore and his muscles all gave out at once. His Talent became visible - a golden-red mist of light that wrapped across his body and pulled him out of his sister's library, out of Lorant and up into the mountains. Then it dropped him and he fell headlong into the snow with a muffled thump.

  After a few dizzying minutes he realized he was prone before Elsie, who had not moved at his arrival. Her caramel eyes did not waver from his face as he pushed himself to his feet. The wind snapped her hair to the left, tossing it in the growing fury of the storm. Flecks of snow stood out bright against her, sprinkled over the Bedim uniform she still wore. Slowly straightening Dorian met her umber gaze, steadfast and disturbed at the same time. A scant four months ago that uniform had been the most hated thing in his world. It was a symbol of death and dishonor, every man who wore it was worthy of his wrath. A wrath he had taken no small amount of satisfaction in releasing.

  As much as he wanted to say the colors didn't suit her, he knew that they did. At least in part they did. It was strange how the cause of an action could change everything. A man who killed for revenge or defense could be famed as a hero. If that same man killed for money or power then the title changed to assassin, Bedim. But Elsie was somewhere in the middle. Her cause was not for money, not quite for revenge. She was after something bigger, something noble and worthy of a House Witch.

  "That wasn't exactly impressive, Lord Feverrette," she said by way of greeting.

  Dorian froze and made a swift reign of his temper. "Oh, I'm sorry. I thought I'd just risked my sister's Talent to find you."

  "I did not wish to be found."

  "Sorry to inconvenience you, then." He ground his teeth together. Though he wasn't certain what he had been expecting from her, this was certainly not it.

  "Why have you come?"

  There was a queer note to her voice that set him on edge. The cold made his bones throb, aching with the need for shelter but he ignored it. He ignored the sudden numbness in his toes and fingers, the sensation of his joints stiffening under the storm's assault. Yet he knew the chill was unnatural even for this weather.

  "I had to be certain you were safe," he said.

  She gave him a reproachful look, "You knew I was safe. Your Talent told you long before you made the decision to find me."

  "As a matter of fact it did. And now that you mention it I think we should finally have that talk I promised you on the Brietta."

  Elsie frowned, clearly not understanding him.

  "The one about the affect you have on me, though it is typical for you not to listen to me. I should expect it at this point."

  Her mouth twitched into a faint smile and the frigid temperature lessened. With one hand he reached out to her, the old-fashioned cape his father had leant to him creating a dramatic red curtain spanning the length of his arm. She stared at his hand. The moment drew out between them while she weighed the consequences of accepting him. There was a struggle on her face that twinged his pride a bit. And then, just before he'd decided to retract the offer, she lifted her hand. Warm fingers curled against his palm, contrasting his own frozen skin. She stepped closer and he felt the welcome heat of her magic envelope him.

  It was different. Whether it was because they had both accepted that Fate and Magic had plotted their union or something else, something beyond the powers of their gods, Dorian didn't know. What he did know was the sudden, euphoric flare of their Talents that pulled the breath from her. He wished his sister could have asked him that question now, the one about knowing Elsie Delgora. Because at his core he felt her, ever-present, dark and sweet and noble and full of contradiction.

  She was frightened.

  He touched her cheek, his knuckles making a slow progression down to her jaw. "Tell me your mind."

  "I don't like to be dictated to."

  "Then I won't order you around."

  "I wanted you to have your freedom. To choose on your own what life you wanted to have. Fate has forced your hand now."

  "Fate merely sets the stage, Elsie. The players choose their roles." Dorian moved closer to her, distracted for a moment by the nearness of her body to his. "She is ever-changing for a reason, love. Fate cannot settle because we are all unpredictable, capable of altering the course of events."

  "And how am I to accept an attraction that may or may not be real?"

  "Not real?"

  "Our Talents have brought us here. Not our choices. Not the man and the woman but the magic." She smiled, sad and brief. "At the end of the day I am just Elsie, not an Heir Apparent or a Witch-Born or a Bedim. A woman. And as much as I would love to deceive myself into thinking something more than heroic concern and the spurring of your own magic has brought you here, we both know it was nothing more than Fate."

  "I'm not certain I understand what you are looking for here."

  "Too many people h
ave died in my place, Dorian." Her voice was wrought with emotion, and she turned away from him. Her head lowered a notch, bent at an angle that displayed the smooth curve of her neck. His fingers ached to touch her there, to smooth back her hair and kiss her skin. When she spoke next it was almost too hard to hear; "I freed you from the Bedim threat. Why couldn't you just take your life and go?"

  He knew the answer to this. He just couldn't say it. Not out loud. Lorelei had not haunted him in weeks, the pain of her loss a distant prick to him now. But it was a confession he wasn't ready to give, not with her back to him and the sense of her struggle. It would sound cheap to say he loved her. With slow, deliberate care he stepped behind her. Because he thought he might die if he didn't he let his hand find the curve of her neck. He smoothed the dark spirals of her hair away from her skin, momentarily not caring about the cold as he pressed a kiss there.

  "Elsie," he murmured and stopped himself.

  "It doesn't matter," she said. "I need your help with something."

  He listened, glad for the sudden change in subject. "What do you need?"

  "I must put out the braziers in Delgora and make Reonne believe I am dead."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Their combined power was becoming addictive. No sooner had she spoken the words and the snow around them lifted, whirling about with magic and force. Dorian's hands stayed at her waist, his chest against her back as she conjured the spell. She preferred it that way, given his inability to answer her questions. Elsie wasn't certain what hurt more, the idea that he wanted to be with her or the possibility that he didn't. On the one hand they could both die when they faced the Dellidus - and she knew he was not going to let her face that trial alone. On the other hand, if they both survived and he wanted to leave, to take the freedom she'd been trying to force him to take for weeks now, a large part of herself cringed at the prospect of losing him.

  There was no spell for extinguishing the Braziers. The entire purpose of the object was to announce the health of the Heir Apparent and the continued protection of the people within her domain. But there was a way to contact her Talent. It wasn't done often, mostly because the Witch-Born didn't see a reason to, but every once in a while a situation would present itself where a Talented couldn't interpret their magic's demands.