The Star Witch

by Linda Winstead Jones

  Tonight’s meal was eaten in his chambers, as always, but it was Franco who sat across the table from him, not Isadora. As much as he normally enjoyed the company of the warrior who was posing as his valet, the man was a poor substitute as dinner companion.

  Like Esmun, Franco was anxious to leave this place. He was not so sure about making their escape with two women in tow. He seemed to think the Hern brothers had been bewitched.

  Then again, Franco was young and had never been completely besotted by a female. He would learn, in time.

  Franco ate with relish, and dinner conversation was kept at a minimum until both men had finished their meal. It was then that Franco leaned back in his chair and looked squarely at Lucan. “I’m glad enough that we won’t be fighting Columbyana’s war, but I don’t entirely understand why. You came here specifically to ally with the emperor, did you not?”

  “You’re anxious to engage in full-out war?” The Circle often fought in clan disputes, and they had taken part in many a bloody battle, but there had not been war with a land beyond Tryfyn’s borders since the fall of the Circle, well more than a hundred years ago. If all went well and he retrieved the Star, as he was destined to do, there would not be war within Tryfyn for a long time to come.

  “I much prefer sword-to-sword conflict to being your manservant,” Franco teased.

  “Am I unbearably demanding?”

  “Yes, you are,” the younger man replied with a crooked smile.

  After Franco retired to his own quarters to sharpen his weapons and pack his small bag for travel, Lucan paced his silent rooms. He kept expecting Isadora to come through the hidden entrance, tired but happy to see him. She would be happy to see him, wouldn’t she?

  As he paced, his mind went back to that moment early this morning when Isadora had so plainly told him she did not want to be his wife. He couldn’t marry her so he should be glad that she did not desire such ties, but instead he was annoyed. If the choice were his, he would gladly ask her to marry him. She would make a good wife. Did she not think that he would make a good husband?

  Lucan lit a number of candles when night fell, so that when she did come to him she would not open the door into darkness. As he waited, he packed his own bag. Isadora would not be able to take many of her things with her, but once they reached Tryfyn he would replace all she had left behind, and more. He would give her everything any woman could possibly want, and she would be happy. She would not regret leaving the imperial palace for him.

  He had not come to this palace looking for a woman, but as he prepared to flee he could not imagine leaving without Isadora.

  Sebestyen led the way along the narrow, winding stair that led to the chamber where Liane was delivering his child. The old woman who trailed along behind him was surely wrong. She was a lunatic who smelled of musty potions and unwashed clothes, who was wild-eyed and unkempt and cryptic. Gadhra represented everything Sebestyen hated and feared about magic and witches.

  When they arrived in Liane’s room and discovered that the witch was wrong, he’d have Gadhra thrown in Level Thirteen to rot. With the Circle of Bacwyr on his side, he did not need her magic. Other, lesser witches could concoct the few potions they needed. A witch as strong as this one could bring too much trouble to the palace.

  Beorn had been sent to the Level Five hallway and the main entrance to the empress’ chambers, where Liane’s sentinels continued to stand guard. Serian trailed behind Sebestyen and the witch Gadhra, as the three of them took the hidden stairwell he had used on a few occasions to visit Liane.

  He had never used the passageway to visit any of the wives who had preceded Liane. Never, not once in the years he had been married to them, had he desired to see any one of them so desperately that he would sneak out of his bed in the middle of the night and make the short and twisted journey to their bed. Liane was different from all other women; she had always been different. He looked for and even expected betrayal from everyone else—but not from her.

  When he reached the hidden entrance to the bedchamber, Sebestyen dropped down and pressed his hand upon a cool stone. The door should slide silently and quickly open, but nothing happened.

  The witch behind him dropped to her haunches and whispered in his ear, “The witch Isadora has sealed this door.”

  “Can you unseal it?”

  “Of course. Isadora Fyne is not a more powerful witch than I. Any spell she can cast, I can uncast. Any magic she can do, I can undo.”

  Through the thick wall, he heard Liane scream.

  “Do it,” he commanded.

  The witch muttered words he did not understand, casting her spell in a language that stank of magic, just as she did. A chill crawled up Sebestyen’s spine. There was no guarantee that the old woman was doing as he asked; she might be casting a spell on him.

  But disgusting as Gadhra was, she had been loyal, thus far.

  The witch stopped speaking, then offered to him a vial of Panwyr on her wrinkled palm. “You will need this for the witch Isadora,” she whispered. “When she is no longer necessary for the delivery, you must dispose of her. She knows too much; she is a danger to you.”

  Sebestyen realized that he should’ve disposed of Isadora Fyne when Bors had first presented her to him. He took the Panwyr and dropped it into the deep pocket of the crimson robe he wore, and once again touched his hand to the low, hidden entrance.

  As it had in the past, the small door slid silently open.

  At last, the time was near. Ferghus waited in the entryway and would come at Isadora’s call. The last time she’d checked on him, the empress’ most devoted sentinel had clearly been nervous. He’d been downright pale and twitchy. Isadora could not tell if it was the birth itself or the intrigue to follow that worried him.

  Men who were not afraid to kill and die by the sword could be oddly squeamish where childbirth was concerned.

  “It’s time to push.” Isadora peered over the sheet that had been draped across Liane’s knees, to find tired, angry eyes glaring at her.

  “You push, you wicked, tormenting, ungrateful crone!” It was not the worst Liane had called her during the day.

  “If I could do this for you, I would,” Isadora said calmly. “I can’t. You must push. The time is here, Liane. This is the moment we have been waiting for.”

  Liane nodded, and when the next contraction came she pushed. With a scream and one more curse, the first of the twins was born.

  The empress collapsed onto the bed, and Isadora quickly tended to the baby. When the cord was cut and tied, she wrapped the child in a thick, warm blanket, and called to Ferghus.

  “Is he all right?” Liane asked, her eyes on the ceiling above, and not on her child.

  “He is small but healthy,” Isadora said, “as I promised he would be. Are you sure you don’t want to—”

  “I’m very sure,” Liane said in a choked voice.

  Ferghus came into the room, casting a quick glance to the empress and then taking the baby from Isadora.

  “He’s tiny,” the big man said in a tentative voice.

  “Yes, he is. Get him to his destination quickly. He will need to be fed soon.”

  “A wet nurse is waiting.”

  Isadora nodded. A part of her wanted to give her full attention to the child who had just been born, but the night’s plan was not yet complete. It was time to send for Sebestyen. With any luck, the second child would wait a good few minutes before he decided to come into the world.

  She knelt before the hidden entrance to undo the seal she had put in place earlier, so Ferghus and the baby could escape by this hidden route, but before she could say a word, it slipped open without making a sound. She fell back, as a crouched and crimson-clad Emperor Sebestyen entered the room.

  As he stood, the emperor’s eyes fell on Ferghus. The empress’ sentinel held the newborn babe protectively in his arms. Isadora saw confusion on Sebestyen’s face, then a deep and frightening anger.

  Gadhra followed the e
mperor through the low door, whispering in her tinny voice, “I told you, my lord, can you see? This one was trying to take your son from his rightful place.”

  A green-clad sentinel followed Gadhra, and as soon as he was able to stand he drew his sword with one hand and a short knife with the other, and stood ready to fight.

  “Sebestyen,” Liane said breathlessly, “I can explain.”

  The emperor spared her a quick glance. “It would be best if you did not speak to me at this time,” he said coldly. He walked to Ferghus, and offered his hands. After a moment’s hesitation, the sentinel handed the child to his father.

  Sebestyen looked back at the guard who had come with him through the secret passageway. “Kill him,” he said without emotion.

  Before Ferghus had a chance to respond, the emperor’s sentinel moved forward and quickly lashed out. The blow was fast and accurate; the knife went deeply into Ferghus’ torso and was then withdrawn.

  “No!” Liane screamed as Ferghus laid a hand to his wound and then crumpled to the floor.

  Sebestyen looked down at the baby in his arms. “Why is he so small, when the empress grew so large she could barely walk?”

  The witch Gadhra moved to the foot of the bed. “Because there are two,” she said, her old voice filled with wonder. “I did not see that for myself...I did not see that there would be two.”

  Sebestyen spared a glance for a motionless Ferghus. “Serian, is he dead?”

  “Yes, my lord,” the sentinel answered.

  “Good.” The emperor walked to Liane’s bedside, his step slow and precise. She had another contraction, while he watched with emotionless eyes. When she screamed he did not react at all, not even to flinch. After the contraction was done, she collapsed to the mattress once again.

  “You’re giving birth to two sons; that’s why you lied to me,” her husband said.

  “I knew you would never allow—”

  “You would send our eldest son, my rightful heir, away. Where was he going, Liane? Where would you send the rightful heir to the throne of Columbyana?”

  “To a place where he would be safe!” she said angrily. “To a place where you could not harm him!” Her eyes filled with tears. “Ferghus was only doing as I asked, and you killed him!”

  “I always did think you cared for that one too much. There are other sentinels to fill his position. He will not be missed. Not by me.” At Sebestyen’s order, his own sentinel covered Ferghus’ body with the discarded coverlet from the bed Liane lay upon.

  Sebestyen handed his firstborn son to Gadhra, and the old witch took the child with a greediness that alarmed Isadora. The emperor then sat beside his wife and took her hand.

  “I loved you,” he said without emotion, “and you betrayed me. You lied to me.” He squeezed her hand too hard, and she flinched. “I expected lies from everyone else, but not from you. Never from you.”

  “Sebestyen, I...” Liane began breathlessly.

  “If you tell me that you love me, I will kill you before you take your next breath. I have my son. I don’t need you anymore.”

  Another contraction came. It was almost time for the second child to be born.

  “Move away from her,” Isadora ordered. “You can talk about this after we’re finished with our work here.”

  While Liane gripped the sheet with her free hand and pushed, Sebestyen leaned over the bed and spoke to her in a loud, clear voice. “I could kill you, but I won’t. You are empress, and you will remain empress, but you’re going back to Level Three where you belong. You will make yourself available for any man who desires you, and you will perform any task I order, no matter how demeaning or degrading.”

  Liane screamed, but Sebestyen continued, raising his voice so she’d be certain to hear.

  “Can you imagine what a treat it will be for visiting dignitaries to fuck an empress? Maybe you can entertain an entire delegation while I watch. Maybe you can perform prurient tricks for special occasions.” He leaned closer, and as his second son was born into Isadora’s hands, Emperor Sebestyen said, “The priests were right about you, Liane, they were right all along. You are not worthy of the place I offered you. I can’t love a woman like you. You’re not deserving. You’re nothing.”

  The second child was a bit larger than the first, and he cried in a louder voice. Liane raised up and offered her arms for her child. “Give him to me,” she said hoarsely.

  Isadora walked toward Liane, the youngest of the empress’ two sons snug in her arms. Sebestyen placed himself between Isadora and the new mother, and he forcibly took the babe from her. “The whore is not to touch either of my children, not ever.” He cut his eyes to Gadhra. “This one is stronger, I can see that for myself.”

  “This one is firstborn,” she argued, “and therefore is the rightful heir.”

  He sighed and looked down at the baby in his arms. “You are right, of course.”

  “What are you going to do with my babies?” Liane asked as she struggled to sit up.

  “There can only be one, Liane, you know that,” Sebestyen argued.

  She screamed at him, and she cried, but he seemed completely unaffected as he laid the second-born child in a waiting cradle.

  Isadora took a deep breath and did her best to reason with the emperor. “My lord, our intentions were noble and in your children’s best interests. The empress was very aware that twin sons would confuse the bloodline. She only wanted safety for both of her babies. It is not too late to send one of them away to a place of safety and anonymity. No one need ever know...”

  He took her hand and lifted it, studying the ring that adorned her right hand. “I believe I told you once before, this ring is rightfully mine. Is it still stuck? Will I need

  Serian’s sword to retrieve my own property?”

  The ring was so unimportant, she did not care to argue. Isadora whispered, “Avar," and the ring slipped off her finger. She handed the piece to the emperor. He placed it on his little finger, then took a moment to admire the fit. “Please,” she begged. “Let us see the youngest child to a place of safety.” Their protection was her duty. It was the reason for her presence here, and if Sebestyen had his way, she would fail. She had failed enough in this lifetime and did not wish to taste defeat again.

  “You are so bold as to tell me what to do with my own children?”

  “I only want—”

  She did not get the chance to say more. Sebestyen reached into the pocket of his crimson robe, withdrew a vial of a brown powder that sparkled by candlelight, and before she knew what he intended, he had grabbed her head and shoved the vial up her nose.

  Isadora started to fight the emperor, but before she could raise her hands, a tingling sensation filled her nose and her head and then danced through her entire body until she was weak-kneed. The room seemed to swim, and colors swirled around her as if a rainbow had broken apart and was trying to reassemble itself before her very eyes. She could barely lift her hands, and when she did they were limp and weak. She smiled and wiggled her fingers, and they seemed to elongate and flutter in a way they never had before.

  She heard Liane screaming again, but the sound was distant and weak and vaguely annoying. The emperor issued orders this way and that, but she wasn’t entirely sure what he was saying. It did not matter what he said, not when the world was so attractive and new.

  Isadora closed her eyes, and Lucan was there. She could see him as if he stood before her, every line and curve of his face distinct, every nicely honed muscle of his body calling to her. For a moment it actually seemed that she could feel him inside her, and she swayed against the intense sensation.

  She opened her eyes and managed to focus on Sebestyen’s face. “I must thank you, my lord, for sending me to Lucan.”

  “I’m so glad you enjoyed your time with him.”

  In the distance, Liane continued to scream, “No, no, don’t...” Blah, blah, blah. Isadora paid her no mind. “I did,” she said with wonder. “I enjoyed my time w
ith him very much. Will you take me to him? I think I need him now.”

  “I imagine you do.”

  They did not go into the hallway. Instead, the emperor dragged Isadora to a low opening in the wall. The secret doorway. Maybe he knew the route through these passageways to Lucan’s room. Maybe the journey would be quicker this way. The lighting in this passage was better than that between her room and Lucan’s. A few of the light sticks which helped to illuminate Level One burned here at odd and distant intervals. The corridor was wider, perhaps even cleaner.

  Sebestyen kept a tight grip on her wrist and pulled her along behind him. Isadora tried to keep up, but her feet felt heavy, and her knees wobbled. Still, she did her best to keep pace. They twisted down and down and around until she was dizzy. Shouldn’t they be going up?

  Maybe not. Maybe this was a truly magical passageway, where there was no proper up or down, no left or right.

  Emperor Sebestyen muttered to himself frequently as they hurried along, and he held her wrist very tightly—much more tightly than was necessary. Isadora increased her step, since she was anxious to get to Lucan.

  The truth came to her like a wave that washed over and through her entire body. She loved Lucan Hern. It was a wonderful and terrible revelation. There was the curse to consider...but at the moment she did not care for curses, not at all. She was happy, she was strong...and she wanted Lucan. Her entire body throbbed for him. Maybe it wasn’t actually love at all, but a powerful and undeniable passion. Lust. She could not deny that her body had been made for his, that he had introduced her to pleasures she had never even imagined.

  No, there was that, but love was a part of it, too. She’d tried to deny it, but now it was just too hard to fight what she knew to be true.

  They left the hidden stairway behind, and the emperor dragged her along a plain, narrow hallway. This was not Level Four, and it was not a secret passageway. There were oddly shaped, thick doors here, and a rotten odor, and a distant wailing that was more irritating than Liane’s screams.