The Star Witch

by Linda Winstead Jones

  “You don’t know her,” the man rasped. “You didn’t see what I saw.” He shuddered. “Don’t let her touch me.”

  “I’m sorry,” Isadora said as she approached, unaware that the conversation Lucan had been carrying on concerned her. “Juliet and Sophie and I have plans to make, and I’ve been relaying to them what Thayne told me before he left for Tryfyn. Juliet has much to share, too, so...” Lucan turned away from the soldier and faced the woman he planned to make his wife. She was beautiful, he knew that to be true, and yet when he looked at her in the morning light it was not beauty that he saw.

  The prisoner was telling the truth. There was death and ruin in and around Isadora Fyne, and that devastation showed on her face in a way he had never before known possible. The circles beneath her eyes were large and dark, her mouth was thin and twisted, and he could see the beginning signs of decay on her once-fine body. Her hands, hands that had caressed him many times, were more like claws than the delicate hands he remembered.

  “This prisoner tells me you killed two men,” he said. “Tell me it isn’t true.”

  Isadora stopped, and her face went pale. Beyond pale, it was almost white as snow. No, her face was white as death. “And what if it is true?” she asked.

  He knew that beneath the ugliness he now saw, the woman he loved remained. But what if the woman he loved was the lie, and this monstrosity was the real Isadora? “You made such a fuss about not killing. Was that all a lie for my benefit?”

  “No,” she whispered, “but I don’t expect you to believe that.”

  “I believe the truth. I see the truth, as I was taught to see.”

  Her hands twisted and formed small, knotty fists. “The truth is not always as simple as you would like to believe, Lucan. It’s complicated, and...and sometimes people do things they regret, but we can’t go back and undo the wrongs we’ve done. We can only try to do better.”

  “I see the truth of who you are, and it is as if I’ve never seen you before.”

  “What you see is the curse, not the truth.”

  Lucan wanted to run, but he held his ground. “You are not the woman I believed you to be.”

  Anger showed on Isadora, like fire flaming to the surface. “I killed one of the men who invaded and burned my home,” she shouted. Heads in the almost-deserted camp began to turn. “I killed a man who threatened to cut my throat when he caught me stealing food so I could survive. Should I have let him kill me instead of fighting back?” She took a step away from him. “I suppose I should have. It would be easier than this.”

  “Do you know what the worst of my crimes are?” she asked in a calming voice. “I ran.” She pointed to the prisoner who sat on the ground behind Lucan. “And when I ran, soldiers like this one took their rage out on a village of innocents. I carry the pain of those deaths in my heart and always will, but do not ask me to apologize for defending myself and my home, as you or any other man would have done in my place.”

  Lucan blinked hard, trying to wipe away the images before him. He could not possibly love the figure of ruination that stood before him. Isadora was everything he had always feared about witches and their magic; she was exactly what Zebulyn had warned him about, all those years ago. Beware the witch.

  “You want to run from me, don’t you?” Isadora asked in a surprisingly soft voice.

  “Yes,” he answered truthfully.

  “Run then,” she said as she backed away from him. “It was meant to be, and we were wrong to think that anything else could come of us.” She turned, so he could no longer see the ugliness of her face. When she was halfway to the tent where her sisters waited, she said, in a lowered voice he was likely not supposed to hear, “Have a good life, love.”

  “He’s not really gone!" Sophie said, running to the tent flap to look out on what remained of the camp.

  “I was not quick enough to stop the curse,” Isadora said sensibly. “There’s still time to save Kane, however, and that is what we must see to.” There was no time to nurse her broken heart. Later, when she was alone, she would cry for what might have been if she’d been faster—or the curse had been slower.

  Sophie held her son and looked out over the camp with a frown on her face. “I can’t believe he would leave when we’re so close. She turned to Juliet. “We are close, aren’t we?”

  “Yes,” Juliet said in an almost confident voice. “Very close, I think. Tonight, if all goes well.”

  Tonight. If only Lucan had been able to withstand the curse for another day...but he hadn’t, and there was no use pondering what might have been.

  Sophie and the new baby in her arms returned to her wounded husband and her sisters. “What do you mean, if all goes well?”

  “The wizard said we would each see an impossibility become possible, before the curse was ended. Isadora’s miracle has not yet arrived. Without it the spell we’ve crafted won’t end the curse.”

  “What is her miracle?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Juliet was so powerful, but she still did not see all. No one was meant to see everything; Isadora understood that. But why hadn’t she seen that Lucan would leave this morning? Maybe if she’d been prepared for the revolted expression on his face, it wouldn’t have hurt as much.

  Then again, perhaps nothing could ever mitigate that sort of pain.

  Liane could be anywhere by now. When the curse was ended—if that was indeed possible—and Sophie and Juliet went their separate ways, Isadora would dedicate herself to finding the empress and her children and making sure they were safe. It was the least she could do, and it would give her purpose.

  Right now she desperately needed purpose. She needed something meaningful and important to keep her from becoming a bitter old hag like Gadhra. It would be so easy to lock herself away from the world and live only for her magic. Like Isadora, Gadhra had touched both protection and destruction. In the end, destruction had killed her.

  Lucan had gone, and her sisters had their own lives to lead, but she did not want to become such a sad figure of a woman as Gadhra had been. She wanted more, but at the moment everything in this life worth having seemed so very far away—so impossibly out of reach.

  It would be nice to think that she could make her way to Tryfyn and find Lucan once the curse was ended, but it was too late. He had seen the ugliness in her, and he had been repulsed. Nothing would take that memory, that disgust, that truth away.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Lucan knew he could walk straight to the palace and demand a horse from the new emperor, if he did not find his own men still in the city. But instead of following the path in that direction, he headed south through the thick woods. He was not ready to face anyone, not even his own warriors.

  He was tired, and heartsick, and confused, in part from lack of sleep. So when he ran across a sheltered cave he sat to rest for a few minutes. Perhaps here he could gather his wits and his resolve to move forward.

  Isadora Fyne was a witch, and it was possible he had never been in love with her at all but had been under a spell of some sort. She’d promised not to use her magic on him, but how was he to know she’d kept that promise?

  He did not deal with failure well. First he had lost the Star of Bacwyr, and then...and then he had lost what he’d believed to be love. Two failures, both momentous, and they emptied him. Heart and soul, he felt empty.

  Lucan closed his eyes, only for a moment, and when he opened them, he saw the last person he expected to find before him.

  “Zebulyn. But...you’re dead.” The old man looked much as Lucan remembered, but he seemed spryer. Happier, even.

  “Yes,” the old wizard answered in a gruff voice. “I am dead. Could be worse. At least I haven’t ravaged my entire life in a matter of minutes.”

  “This is a dream.” Lucan stood, and when he did, he knew he was dreaming. The cave he’d crawled into was not large enough for standing. Unlike the many meetings he remembered from his younger years, he was taller than
the old wizard.

  “It is a dream and not a dream,” Zebulyn said with a wave of his hand. “We are meeting in the world in-between, a world where the living and the dead and the lost can come face-to-face for a while, when the powers of the universe so decree.”

  “Why now?” Lucan asked. How many times had he wished for the old man’s advice in years past?

  “Because you are in need of a swift kick in the pants, that’s why!”

  “I did not retrieve the Star,” Lucan admitted.

  “No, you did not.”

  “I failed.”

  “Miserably.”

  “You came back from the dead to scold me?”

  “Yes!” The old man banged his cane on the hard earth, and the entire cave shook.

  Not only had he lost the Star and what he’d believed to be love, the powers of the universe had come together to slap his hand, as if he were once again a powerless boy. “Perhaps it is possible that I might still recover the Star of Bacwyr,” Lucan said.

  “It is possible,” Zebulyn grumbled. “Not likely, but possible.”

  “I searched the palace as well as I could with the time I was allowed, but now that Arik is in power, perhaps he will allow me greater access. All I need is more time—”

  “The Star is no longer in the palace.”

  “Where is it?”

  “If I told you where to find the Star, what kind of a challenge would this be?” Zebulyn shouted. And then he calmed considerably. “We’re wasting time. No one can stay for very long in the land in-between. I have only come to remind you that I taught you to see with your heart and your soul. It took years of instruction, and you were not always my best student, but you did learn. Still, there are times when you see with your untrained eyes, and you forget to tap into the power I gave you. Don’t waste what you have learned.”

  The old wizard began to fade, and the cave began to shrink. “Wait!” Lucan shouted. “I have questions!”

  Zebulyn smiled. “Of course you do.” And then he disappeared.

  Tonight they would try, for the first—and hopefully the last—time to break the curse. Kane’s condition had not changed. Perhaps if they were successful, he would awaken and all would be well. There was no guarantee that the curse would loose its hold on the wounded rebel, no matter what happened tonight.

  Isadora did not hold out much hope for the spell or for Kane. The requirements for the breaking of the curse were incomplete, and she felt as if she’d run out of miracles.

  She was surprised when Myls called out at the tent’s entrance. The boorish rebel likely would have stormed in without asking, if Ryn and Juliet’s guards weren’t diligently guarding their Queen and the new Princess.

  The sour soldier stuck his head into the tent and spared a passionless glance for Kane before turning his attention to Sophie. “There’s a woman here, and she’s asking for you. She gives her name as Mahri, and Ferghus has confirmed her identity.”

  Isadora could not stop the leaping of her heart. If Mahri was all right then maybe Liane and the babies were safe, as well. “Send her in.”

  A moment later, a drably clad woman with a large brown kerchief covering her hair stooped down to enter the crowded shelter. Isadora knew, as soon as she saw the woman’s hands and the blue ring on the middle finger of the right, that this was not Mahri.

  Liane lifted her head. A light of surprise and relief lit her eyes, and a touch of a smile turned her lips. “Please don’t give me away,” she whispered as she drew nearer.

  “I was so worried about you,” Isadora said softly. “What of the babies?”

  “Jahn and Alixandyr are well, for now. Mahri is watching them.” Liane dropped to her knees beside Kane and laid a hand on his forehead. “Is he going to be all right?” “We don’t know yet.” Sophie said. “I think so. Juliet says maybe yes, probably yes, but I won’t be satisfied until he comes around. Is that why you’re here? You heard that Kane was injured?”

  Liane shook her head. “I did not know my little brother was wounded until I heard that oaf who calls himself Myls mention the injury in an offhand manner.” She looked at Sophie as she ran a comforting hand through Kane’s hair. “I came here searching for you.”

  Sophie’s eyes went wide. “Why?”

  “Because you’re the only one who might be able to help me. I don’t know if anyone can but...I have seen you do miraculous things, Sophie, and I need a miracle today.” Isadora’s heart leaped again, at the mention of miracles. “The nursemaid who was with us ran away this morning. I suspect she was little more than a slave, and with Sebestyen dead...” She averted her eyes and trembled visibly. “The reasons for her leaving are not important. Gadhra, that evil old bat, gave me some foul-smelling potion to dry up my milk, and the nursemaid is gone, so how am I to feed my babies? If anyone can...can fix me, it’s you.”

  “I’ve never tried such a spell,” Sophie admitted. “I don’t know that it would work.”

  “Will you try?” Liane asked.

  Sophie nodded, and then she closed her eyes and began to breathe deeply and strangely, as if she took the air into another place. It was a meditation not so much different from that which Lucan practiced.

  There had been a time when the youngest Fyne sister had possessed very little power, but that had changed—as evidenced by the way she’d influenced the weather during her long labor with Duran. Even now, as she searched inside herself for what Liane needed, she seemed to glow. She’d always had a sort of attractiveness that men craved and women envied, but this glow took her beyond earthly beauty.

  When it was time, she called Liane to her and laid her hands on the former empress’ breasts. Liane closed her eyes and took deep breaths, as if willing Sophie’s machinations to work. Sophie did not speak. There were no words of magic to assist the power she fed to Liane. And then, without warning, the spell was done, and Sophie dropped her hands.

  “When will we know if it worked?” Liane asked.

  “Soon,” Sophie answered.

  While they waited, Liane was introduced to her nephew. She shed a few tears upon learning that the baby had been named Duran. Still holding the baby, she hugged Isadora with a touch of passion and emotion and deep relief, and told her simply that it was good to see her well. There was no mention of the night Liane’s husband had thrown Isadora into a pit in the ground to die.

  When Liane had returned Duran to his mother, Isadora asked about Ferghus—who had lied to Myls about the visitor being Mahri. Liane just shrugged her shoulders. “He was always loyal to me,” she said.

  If she did not realize that the sentinel was in love with her, then she was blind. That blindness was possible, considering the way Liane had lived most of her life. She still loved Sebestyen, after all that he had done to her. She would likely always love him. Her life in the palace as a concubine and even as an assassin had twisted her emotions to the point where it was possible the only love she would ever recognize was that of a man who had imprisoned her and debased her, and in the end done his best to take her children away.

  Sebestyen had loved Liane, of that Isadora did not have a doubt. But his love had been as twisted and incomplete as hers for him. Was her own love for Lucan twisted by her time in the palace? Was it as true as it seemed to be?

  After a short while, Liane twitched as if she’d been startled. She laid one hand over a breast, and then she smiled. “I can feel it,” she whispered. “The milk is coming in.”

  “That is good.”

  “I can feed my babies.”

  “Abundantly,” Sophie answered with a smile. “When do I get to meet my nephews?”

  Liane stood and shook her head. “Never, I’m afraid.” She twisted the ring on her hand. “Those who still believe that Sebestyen was the rightful ruler will insist that Jahn is the new emperor, and there will be more war. More death. Worse, the priests will lock Jahn away and use him for their own purposes, their own quest for power. And if they know that Alix lives, there is no end t
o what they might do. I promised Sebestyen I would take the boys far, far away from the palace and those who would use them. That’s what I’m going to do.” She held her hand aloft. “This is all Jahn and Alix will have of their father, an ordinary ring with his blood caught in the setting.”

  Lucan wanted that ring very much, but he was gone, and even if Isadora was willing to take the only valuable possession Liane had left, Lucan would likely not accept it from her. He not only did not love her anymore, he despised her and everything she touched.

  Juliet offered her palm, upturned, and asked if she could see the ring more closely. Liane reached out, and Juliet touched the blue stone. “There is magic here,” she said with a smile.

  Liane sighed. “Would I be well rid of it, then?”

  “No, not at all,” Juliet said as she allowed her hand to fall away. “It isn’t a forceful magic and shouldn’t alarm you in any way. At one point, long ago, this ring was blessed to rid it of the negative energies of the past wearer. It now carries with it a touch of good luck. Not a lot,” she said, “but a trace. Just enough to make it glimmer, when I study it just so. It’s drawn to power.” With that, she glanced at Isadora. “It was drawn to you,” she added softly.

  “Perhaps it will bring me and my boys luck in the days to come.”

  “Perhaps,” Juliet responded.

  “I have to go. Do me a favor,” Liane asked as she backed toward the tent’s entrance. “Tell everyone that we’re dead. Make up a sad tale about the way I and the babies perished, so no one will ever come looking for us.”

  “Where are you going?” Isadora asked.

  The former empress shook her head. “I don’t know. Far away. As far as I can get from Arthes, that’s where I’m going.” She nodded to Sophie. “Thank you, for my babies and for the return of my ability to feed them.” Liane dipped her head to Juliet. “I thank you, too, for the information about Sebestyen’s ring. It’s good to know.” Then she looked at Isadora, and her eyes misted. “I cannot thank you enough for being my friend. I’m so glad Sebestyen didn’t kill you.”