Witch-born

by A. J. Maguire

  The sight of Naharia heaped against the bars raked across her heart. Careful not to rock the cage too much Elsie lowered herself and scooted to sit beside Naharia.

  The older woman stirred, "Bryva?"

  "Shh," Elsie helped Naharia move until her head rested against her lap. She began to gingerly brush the hair from Naharia's face and for a moment Elsie could only think of when she was a child. Whether it was fever or fear, Naharia had always treated her like a daughter, coaxing comfort to her in spite of the fact that Elsie's very life had cost the woman her second born.

  She could remember the day Naharia had told her who she really was. It had been an inevitable discovery, what with Elsie's Talent pushing her to grow, but Naharia had seemed sad when it came time to tell her. As though the truth were a barrier that neither of them would be able to cross again, she thought restlessly. Looking back, Elsie could see how she had been right. It was a subtle change that happened over time, but eventually Elsie had stopped thinking of the woman as her mother and called her by name.

  That seemed cold of her.

  Naharia's hair felt like thin pieces of wire to her skin, crisp and aged from too much time in the sun. It frizzed away from her head, speckled with white to echo the creases that had begun to emerge on the older woman's face. Elsie wondered when Naharia had grown so old.

  "Where ... where is my Bryva?" Naharia asked again, weaker this time.

  Elsie's magic stirred in alarm. Naharia was dying, she could feel it. Confused, she pulled her Talent into focus and listened to the raspy breathing, the faint palpitations of her heart. "What did they do to you?"

  "Poison," Forvant called from the other cage.

  The word had an immediate affect on Elsie. She felt her body go cold with rage, her magic swelling with the need for violence, the need to do something, anything, to stop the inevitable.

  "Naharia?" Elsie cupped the woman's cheek and tilted her face up. In the bright midday light, Naharia's face was somehow shadowed. Her cheeks were gaunt and high, concaving in an unnatural and unhealthy way. "Please don't leave me."

  A smile touched Naharia's lips for the faintest of moments. "It's time, Nessa," she said.

  "No. Not yet." She glanced out of the cage, searching frantically for some kind of help.

  "If you call out, you know the men will answer." Forvant was leaning out as far as he could in his own cage, trying to keep his voice down. "It'll be exactly what she wants."

  "Reonne can leap headfirst into Witch-Eater lake for all I care. I cannot accept this." Elsie held Naharia closer and glared at the older man.

  The look that crossed Forvant's face was filled with sorrow and compassion. Elsie read it, felt his pity from between their cages, and knew he was right. Even through her teary-eyed vision, she could see how closely the guards were watching them. If she called out, if she gave the battle cry, her supporters would leap to her aid. With Dorian and his friends nearby there was the possibility that they could win, but Reonne would undoubtedly call on her Dellidus, and none of them were prepared for that fight.

  Not yet, anyway.

  "I'm not ready," Elsie half-sobbed and half-whispered the words.

  "Yes, you are," Naharia murmured.

  "No, mother, I'm not."

  With a soft sigh, Naharia nuzzled against Elsie's knee. "Where is my Bryva?"

  Elsie let her hand go still against Naharia's head and gazed out at nothing in particular. The pain seemed to come from the bottom of her soul, radiating out at a steady, constant rate. It seemed so unfair that so much could be taken away from her. Magic had said that she'd sacrificed a good deal for the sake of Delgora, and he'd been right. She'd always known that the battle would take lives, but this one Elsie hadn't expected.

  "Where is my Bryva?" Naharia's hoarse, weak voice stabbed into Elsie.

  "She's safe," she lied, "With the men."

  "Good," Naharia whispered. A moment later her head sunk heavy against Elsie's thigh.

  ***

  Shadows draped around Dorian, obscuring him from the view of any passerby. With one palm pressed against the nearest wall, standing straight and firm, he watched. The center of the town was open to the moonlight. Dorian wasn't certain whether that was curse or blessing. On the one hand, she had light for company. On the other, he could see her clearly. Reonne had not given any reprieve. The afternoon had been eventful, the Vicaress announcing the treachery of the Gelgova family and presenting Elsie as the final member of said family for judgment.

  Dorian's eye twitched at the memory.

  Elsie made no plea for herself, not even when she was called to. She'd stood on that damnable platform in the center of the great hall, hands bound in front, chin lifted in defiance and remained silent. Leona had even pleaded for her to say something, anything, to make the sentence lighter. Elsie had looked at the lady and apologized but said nothing more.

  Reonne declared that Elsie would be executed at noon the next day.

  The delay could only be as a last effort to draw Elsie's men into the open. Either she'd meant it as a symbolic gesture to kill her on the Ascension Day or she was just running out of time. It didn't matter, though. Because Elsie would be standing in the Great Hall, which was where she needed to be, when the Ascension finally occurred.

  He knew when she had lost her mother. He'd felt the grief strike him like a physical blow. Dorian closed his eyes and took in a steadying breath.

  "Why do you not go to her?"

  Dorian didn't look. He knew Leona's voice now. "Because she would not want it."

  Leona moved to his side and looked out at Elsie. "But she is so alone." The lady's voice was filled with real emotion. Because Dorian could not contradict her words he kept silent. "Perhaps I could go to her."

  He looked at her then and shook his head. "No. She would not wish for you to risk your mother's ire."

  "I have never known my mother to be so cruel," Leona hugged herself. "All this time ... "

  She trailed off, wisely keeping the last of her thoughts to herself. Dorian knew what she meant anyway. Whatever doubts Leona had about Elsie's story had been banished when they'd entered Delgora Proper. Years of being used, molded by her mother for the purpose of stealing the House Seat, were in clear focus now. Dorian turned back to Elsie, keeping hold of the small thread of control he had left.

  The stillness of the night stretched their silence.

  "So we wait," Leona said at last, returning to her original argument.

  "So we wait." Restraint, he thought with an unhappy frown, was overrated.

  ***

  Reonne woke with a start, her fine sheets sticking to her skin with the dampness of her worry. Something was not right. Dawn would mark the day of Ascension and something was not right. Despite her efforts, none of the men who had supported Elsie had made an effort to free the girl Nessa from the cage. Naharia was dead and no revolt had been made. The servants rushed to and fro outside her room, getting ready for the morning meal, hushed like the rustle of leaves, trying not to disturb her.

  The Bedim Artimus had not visited her since the contract was made against Elsie Delgora. The Dellidus was occupying the forest just outside the Fortress. She knew this like a sense in her body. The creature was as much tied to her now as it was to Lord Delgora, she just hadn't realized its effects until recently. Of course this troubled her considerably, but she could not admit defeat. Not when she was so close.

  Flipping the sheets aside she padded barefoot to her bedroom door, yanking her dressing robe from its place against the wall and donning it as she left the room. No one spoke to her, not even Mirias, as she moved down the hallway, descended the winding stair and stalked into the Great Hall. The Braziers were still unlit, snuffed out as much now as they had been a month ago when Elsie had died.

  Yet there was still something gnawing at her gut.

  "Bring Nessa Gelgova to me," she ordered the nearest guard.

  He bowed low and swift, leaving to administer her demands. Reonne
moved to the House Seat, dragging a solitary finger across its polished surface as she debated the problem. The quiet of the room helped her focus. She moved to the nearest brazier and paused. There was heat cascading from the brazier, she could feel it against her cheek. Lifting a palm to test the theory she felt the heat warm against her skin and suddenly knew what was troubling her.

  Bryva Gelgova had not been Elsie.

  The Heir Apparent was still alive.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Elsie knew the act was over when three guards lowered her cage in the middle of the night. She sensed Dorian's simultaneous spurt of alarm at the unexpected move but had a strange feeling of relief rather than apprehension. From this moment on she knew that Nessa Gelgova was finally at peace and Elsie Delgora could make her appearance. Smiling at the guards with sudden bravado, she stepped out of the cage and held out her wrists for the manacles.

  The iron trifles were heavy and had she not been Witch-Born, would have been sufficient in keeping her bound. It was a real shame Reonne had kept Warders out of Delgora. The Vicaress might have had a fighting chance with a Remora stone present. And Elsie wanted a real fight. Her family, the Gelgova family, deserved to see Reonne sundered like so much rubbish under foot.

  "What is happening?" Forvant stirred in his cage.

  He scrambled up, leaning as far as he could without pressing his face against the rusting bars. Elsie looked up at him, smiling with warmth and affection. At least he would survive.

  "Save your strength, friend," she told him. "The time is upon us at last."

  His eyes widened and he gripped the bars. Elsie turned and let the guards lead her toward Delgora Manor. It loomed in the dark, archaic stone walls touched here and there with modern light fixtures. The gate stood wide open, further proof of Reonne's confidence, and Elsie smiled. It was a dark sort of smile, she knew, echoing the steady beat of her heart the closer she got to the Vicaress's private study. Several of the servants caught sight of her, scurrying out of the way or back to the work of early morning.

  Once delivered to Reonne's door, she was transferred into the custody of Mirias, who genteelly ushered her inside. The door closed behind them, latching to keep the guardsmen outside. Reonne stood beside the steepled, rose-glass window in the southern wall, immaculately dressed in one of the gowns Elsie had made for her. She thought that was meant to goad her but Elsie could only find amusement in the situation.

  Reonne turned away from the window and nodded to Mirias, who produced a gold and green braided waist cord from her pocket and lashed it around Elsie's hips. It looked vaguely familiar and Elsie frowned, trying to place it.

  "It belonged to your mother," Reonne said as though reading her thoughts. "Your real mother."

  Her Talent receded slowly into her core, subdued by the weight of the cord. The green in the cord glinted in the dim light of the room, not fabric as she had first surmised but gem-like and full understanding hit Elsie. "Remora stones," she whispered.

  So she would have her fight after all.

  "Ah, now that is a credit to you, Elsie," Reonne smiled. "It took your mother a good deal longer to figure that out."

  "My mother was caught unaware. I at least have known my enemy."

  Reonne tisked at her, clasping her hands behind her back, "And a great lot of good knowing as done you, child. Given that you are now trapped in exactly the same situation that killed your mother." Heaving a dramatic sigh she walked away from the window and to her desk. "It's sad how it is always the beautiful things that take us down; such an extravagant bauble as that, a mere accessory to a much grander gown. Of course, it was the gown that killed poor Tibelda. The cord itself merely kept the Witch from saving herself."

  "You haven't achieved victory yet, Reonne. I'd bite my tongue if I were you." Elsie felt the manacles weigh more heavily against her wrists. They were bulky in such a way that she could not attempt to remove the cord without them seeing and that blasted Mirias had made certain to knot the braid.

  "By the Fates! You are right." Reonne nodded to Mirias again, who took off for the opposite end of the room and disappeared behind the shadow of a bookshelf. "I really must applaud you on your fortitude, Elsie. You've managed to keep yourself hidden for all these years, and I hadn't the faintest clue. Until that gallant young Feverrette bumbled everything up for you."

  "I've had a good teacher on the issue of patience."

  She split her attention between Reonne and the wall where Mirias had disappeared. A dark foreboding roiled in her gut, warning her to leave or escape or do something.

  "Ah, yes," Reonne kept the pleasant, conversational tone and Elsie's hair rose. "That was clever, going to the Bedim for training. Quite extraordinary for an Heir Apparent."

  "Reonne," Elsie squared her shoulders and reigned in her temper. "Your father has been arrested and is awaiting trial by the Council. Even if you succeed the Council will not allow you to keep Delgora. You must know this."

  "My father," Reonne sat in the chair behind the desk, pale and shocked. The expression lasted only a moment and was replaced with a sneer of hatred that made Elsie take an involuntary step backward. "Thought to cut the head from the snake and end it there, did you? Or was this more personal? I took your father so you took mine? Was that the way of it?"

  Mirias reappeared, looking anxious and almost nauseous. She nodded once to Reonne and hurried for the northern wall, pressing herself against it as though to vanish from sight. The foreboding grew. Elsie thought for the first time in years that she might actually lose this fight. She gave up pretenses and fumbled with the cord, not caring if they saw or attempted to stop her - which she knew they would. She backed up three steps, expecting to feel the door but was too focused on trying to free herself to work through the distances. As she'd expected, the manacles restricted her movements, kept her half-blind to the knot she'd located by touch.

  There was a soft breeze, like quick movement just in front of her, and the rancid scent of death and citrus hit her senses. She'd finally gotten a good hold on the cord when her hair was yanked, wrenching her head back so that Elsie could see him. Reonne was beside her now, a fistful of hair forcing her to look at the Dellidus.

  She'd only seen him this close once before, on the road when he'd attacked Dorian. The moment had been so fast that detail was obscured. But now, with it standing an arm's breadth away, the half-rotted form of her father came into full clarity. Light brown eyes, like her own, stared down at her in a glazed, half-focused way. His scabbed, pock-marked face was more than gaunt, skeletal in form, with patches of skin flaking away. At the base of his jaw, extending out and over to the corner of his mouth, the hardened scales of the serpent replaced flesh. It's mouth pulled into a smile, revealing only six long fangs in place of her father's teeth.

  Elsie felt her breath hitch in her chest, remembering the cord was somewhere in her shocked, numb fingers. Forcing herself to concentrate on the knot rather than the figure before her, she prayed for just a little more time.

  "I did take your father," Reonne said, jerking her head back again. "So I could see where you might want revenge."

  "It's using you, Reonne. The Dellidus thinks only of its own gain."

  "Much like a Bedim, I imagine."

  Her hair was released with a push, and Elsie had to catch herself before running headlong into the Dellidus. Staggering to get upright again Elsie felt the knot loosen under her fingers and hope flared. All she needed was one more minute.

  "I was never just a Bedim knight," Elsie edged away from the creature.

  It watched her with unnerving calm but made no move to stop her.

  "I was also a seamstress," her thumb poked through the last jumble of the knot, "and I am the Heir Apparent of Delgora."

  "Not for much longer, dear."

  Yanking hard on the cord, she felt the burn of the fabric as it zipped around her waist and flung it away from herself. Reonne shouted something but Elsie was too focused on the burst of her magic as
the Remora-ridden thing left her body. The Dellidus reacted to Reonne's command, swinging hard and fast at her head. Elsie ducked and stumbled to the right. The force of talon-clawed arm brushed over her head, disturbing her hair and reminding her that it had been feeding off her father's Talent for twenty-three years.

  It was fast. It was powerful. And it wasn't stopping.

  She caught the following strike with the chains of her manacles. The Dellidus redirected its attack, grabbing the chain and flinging her away. Her feet left the ground, body hurtling to the southern wall. She managed to turn herself so that the whole of her left side took the impact. Mostly she missed the window. One foot broke through the glass, sending shards of rose and green tinkling onto the floor around her.

  The Dellidus didn't wait. She'd managed to get to a knee when it rushed at her, drawing back his leg as though to kick her. Elsie saw the move and lashed out with her own foot, connecting with the creature's steadying knee. It screamed a terrifying mix of man and serpent, catching itself before stumbling to the ground.

  Elsie broke the chains on her manacles and hurried to her feet. A part of her knew that she needed to attack it. That she was only giving it a chance to recuperate by hesitating. But as it squared against her, her father's Talent mending the knee she had just broken, all she could see was Brochan Delgora-Fie. She saw him as he was, whole and hale, smiling at her because he loved her. Loved her so much she could feel it even across the years of his absence.

  She had to try.

  "Father," her voice was hoarse, a weak whisper in the room.

  The Dellidus went still.