by Donna Grant
“You said there was something we could use as the staff,” Ravyn reminded the woman.
Carac watched the ghost move through a wall. As she did, he saw the small section cut out of the rock. “There,” he said to Rayvn and pointed.
They walked to it with Ravyn dropping to her knees first to crawl through it. Carac was right behind her, shifting his shoulders to get through the tight space. He didn’t like being so cramped, and for a moment, he feared that the ghost might have led them into a trap. The next instant, he realized that was foolish. The spirit could end them anytime she wanted. There was no need for such an elaborate ruse.
All the witch and magic and ghost things were playing with his head. He had to push it all aside so he could do what he did best—strategize.
He spotted a light ahead, and soon, Ravyn was through the tunnel and standing. Carac drew in a deep breath when he was finally able to climb to his feet. He never wanted to go back through that space again. Unfortunately, from what he could gather from the four torches on the walls, that was the only way out of the chamber.
Carac raked a hand through his hair as he realized that Ravyn hadn’t said anything. That’s when he gazed around the circular area. His lips parted in shock when he turned and took in the dozens of staffs leaning against the walls.
His eyes landed on Rossamond. “The Staff of the Eternal is in here with the others.”
“It is,” she replied.
“I thought it would be something like what Leoma and Braith described for the Blood Skull,” Ravyn said as she walked closer to the staffs. “It was the only one, though Braith did have to find the secret entrance.”
“Why would we make it so easy?” the ghost asked.
Ravyn glanced over her shoulder at the woman. “Why make it this difficult?”
“In case someone who is not a descendant ever managed to get through.”
Carac shook his head as he took in the various staffs, some with elaborate designs, some so simple they looked as if they could be reattached to a tree. “It is a good ruse, but you assume that a descendant would know which is the right one.”
“Those living here would,” Rossamond replied.
Carac turned to face her. “What about those who are descendants but do not reside here?”
“Hopefully, their families would have told the story.”
“What if they didn’t?” Ravyn asked.
The spirit gave them a flat look. “I suppose they would not know which is the correct one.”
“Or likely even know the staff existed,” Carac added. He ran a hand down his face. “We do not need the real one, so it does not matter.”
Ravyn frowned at him. “But we do.”
Carac had hoped she wouldn’t bring up wanting to take the staff, at least not now. “The staff is safe here.”
“We both know that is a lie,” Ravyn said.
He shrugged and glanced at the ghost. “It was safe, and it can remain that way for a little longer. We need to send the Coven on their way.”
“That will not work,” Rossamond replied. “They will attempt to use the staff immediately.”
That had certainly been something Carac was worried about. “Damn.”
“What does the staff do exactly?” Ravyn asked.
The eyes of the ghost cut to Ravyn. “That does not matter.”
“I would like to be prepared for whatever the Coven intends,” Ravyn argued.
Carac twisted his lips at the spirit. “Ravyn has a point.”
There was a long pause before Rossamond’s shoulders slumped. “It magnifies the magic of the witch who holds it. If someone without magic has it, it tends to bring power, favor, and riches.”
Shite. Carac pinched the bridge of his nose. This was not good news. Frankly, he was tired of all the bad. They really needed something good to come their way. Otherwise, he might begin to feel as if they were doomed from the moment they followed Sybbyl below the dungeons.
He looked into Ravyn’s eyes. “There is a slim chance that we can make them believe we have the staff. It will only last a moment because they will force us out of the tunnel.”
“You,” Ravyn corrected. “I will remain hidden and maybe take down a few witches.”
“Then you both die,” the ghost said. “The Coven will stop Ravyn, and then they will take the staff from you, Carac. Either they will kill you for bringing them the wrong one, or you will die when they force you out of the tunnel.”
He nodded slowly. “Aye. That is how I see it, as well.”
“That is an idiotic plan,” Rossamond stated angrily. “It solves nothing. The Coven could still get into this chamber as you mentioned earlier.”
Carac glanced at the numerous staffs.
“What are you thinking?” Ravyn asked as she walked to him.
He looked from Ravyn to the ghost and back to his warrior. “We destroy every staff. We will still die—”
“But they will lose the staff forever,” Ravyn finished a smile growing. “I like it.”
Carac then turned his head to the ghost. “What do you think?”
“If it were so easy to be rid of the bones of the First Witch, do you not think others would have burnt them before now?”
Just when Carac thought they had a plan, it fell apart. And quite frankly, he had no more ideas.
“But does the Coven know that?” Ravyn asked.
“I know not,” the woman replied.
Carac walked around the chamber looking over the staffs. “I think we should take one of these and tell the Coven it’s the Staff of the Eternal. Then we set it on fire.”
“Any of the witches will be able to douse it,” Ravyn said.
“So we toss several out and tell them to find the right one. Then we burn them and continue to throw more of them into the flames,” he said.
The ghost looked away as if considering his words. “The Coven wants the relic badly enough that they will search through each one, burned or not. And when they do not find it, they will come looking for it.”
Carac smiled. “Not if they believe that the fire destroyed whatever magic was within the First Witch’s bone.”
“That could work,” Ravyn said, surprise making her smile. She then looked at Rossamond. “We will need help.”
The specter bowed her head. “After all this time, I will finally get revenge upon the Coven. Aye. I will help you.”
Now, they had to make sure that everything went according to their hasty and somewhat reckless plan. Then again, what options did they have?
“How many staffs should we use?” Ravyn asked.
Carac reached for the couple closest to him. Just start grabbing and tossing them through the entrance. We’ll sort out the rest.”
The ghost stood and watched as he and Ravyn chucked staff after staff through the small opening that he would have to crawl through again. Not once did the spirit tell them not to take one of the staves. Either that meant they hadn’t come near the real one yet, or she didn’t care if it was burned.
Surely, it would be in everyone’s best interest to keep the Staff of the Eternal as far from the Coven as possible. Then again, the spirit was its guardian. She wanted to keep it from everyone.
Carac could only hope that the true staff would be one they left behind. He knew Ravyn wanted it, but in many ways, he agreed with the ghost. It would be better for all if the staff remained hidden and out of reach. But they may have come to a point where that was no longer possible.
If that were the case, then he would have to convince the spirit that Ravyn and the other Hunters were the ones best suited to keep it away from the Coven. And he hoped he was right.
Braith was now part of the Hunters, and that combined with what he knew of Ravyn gave him the ability to give his word and make such promises. He could only hope that the ghost would listen to him. If not, then Ravyn would have to do it on her own.
And he knew that she could handle it with confidence and ease. Because she was t
hat kind of woman.
“What are you grinning at?” Ravyn asked him when they bumped into each other.
“That fact that I’m glad I met you.”
She laughed and smoothed back a lock of his hair from his forehead, her dark eyes meeting his. “Are you sure? If you had not, you would not be in this situation.”
“And I would not have such an amazing woman beside me. No, I would change nothing.”
Her smile faded, and her gaze lowered to his lips and then his chest. “The odds are stacked against us. Most likely, we will both meet our end, and I think you deserve a better death.”
He raised her chin with his finger and pressed a kiss to her lips. “Better than fighting against evil alongside a woman who makes my blood burn and my heart race? Nay. This is the death I would choose.”
“I wish we had met years earlier,” she said and wrapped her arms around his waist.
“A few days, a few years. It does not matter because it would never be enough for me.”
She grinned seductively up at him, her eyes twinkling. “How long would be enough?”
“Twenty lifetimes. Forty. A hundred,” he replied honestly.
“Maybe we will have better luck in our next life.”
He ran a thumb over her bottom lip. “I have not given up on this one yet.”
“Then neither will I.”
Ravyn turned away to grab more staffs, and Carac shifted, his gaze colliding with Rossamond’s. There was a peculiar look on the spirit’s face. He couldn’t quite name it, and he wasn’t sure what to make of it.
To his amazement, her head turned to the side to look in the direction of a group of staffs they had yet to touch. He wasn’t sure how, but he knew the Staff of the Eternal was in that pile.
And he was going to make sure that they left those alone.
Chapter 29
Fury. It was the only thing that kept Sybbyl on her feet despite the agony that wracked her body. It had taken her longer than she expected, and there were a few close calls, but she finally had the other Hunter—Margery—and Simon on their knees beside Randall.
The chamber reeked of blood and burnt flesh. The few knights who’d joined her hadn’t survived the skirmish. The other men who’d turned against her lay charred upon the ground. And, somehow, she’d survived.
She blinked, trying to stop the chamber from spinning. This shouldn’t be happening. She was a witch, a powerful one at that. Many had attempted to slay her before, but they’d soon learned that it took much more than a random weapon to do the job.
Sybbyl’s gaze slid to Margery’s sword that lay on the ground. Simon’s blade had also cut her, but she hadn’t felt the same piercing pain as when Margery’s weapon found its mark.
“Wondering why you are not feeling so well?” Margery asked, one side of her busted lip lifted in a smirk.
Sybbyl covered one of the cuts on her upper arm with her hand. She had discounted the Hunters, but it looked as if she would pay for such a big miscalculation. What little information the Coven had on the Hunters was missing a glaring detail—they had a witch helping them.
Because only a weapon imbued with magic could kill a witch.
“Who is the witch that you convinced to help you?” Sybbyl demanded to know.
Margery smiled. Sybbyl backhanded her so hard, Margery’s head snapped to the side. There was a slight pause before the Hunter turned her head back to Sybbyl and smiled, blood coating her teeth from her lip splitting open again.
“Resorting to physical violence now, are we?” Angmar said as she walked into the chamber followed by the other councilmember, Matilda.
Sybbyl bowed her head in respect and tried not to look too long at the burn scars along the left side of Angmar’s face from her fight with Braith for the Blood Skull.
The fact that no magic—not even Angmar’s as the strongest of the council elders—could fix or hide the scars said much about what the relic could do.
And Sybbyl quite liked that Angmar’s beauty was diminished by the burns.
Angmar strode into the chamber with confidence, wearing a blood red gown and a black girdle belt, her long, ebony hair hanging freely down her back. The witch’s black gaze was locked on Sybbyl, assessing her with every step.
The other remaining elder came into view followed by John. Matilda with her flame red hair long enough to fall past her hips and amber eyes grinned brazenly at Sybbyl as she came to a stop beside Angmar and ran a hand down the side of her white gown.
“Well?” Angmar urged, one thin, black brow raised. “Why did you hit this woman with your hand when you could have used magic?”
Sybbyl lifted her chin. “Because I wanted to.”
“Ohh,” Matilda said with a laugh. “She is sassy today.”
Angmar ignored Matilda and kept her focus on Sybbyl. “I do not like being summoned, but especially without knowing the reason. Telling me it is important is not enough.”
“You came, though,” Sybbyl replied.
Angmar’s black eyes narrowed in anger. “And you did not even deign to meet us? You sent,”—Angmar glanced at John and twisted her lips in revulsion—“him.”
“Because I was dealing with this. How long have you been at the castle?”
Matilda laughed and looked at her long, pointed nails painted blood red. “That is none of your concern.”
Sybbyl had planned everything down to exactly what she would say to the councilmembers, but thanks to the Hunter, nothing was going right. But she wasn’t going to let that stop her. This was her chance to become an elder, and she refused to fail.
Sybbyl dropped her hand from her wound and jerked her chin to Margery. “Before me kneels a Hunter.”
That piqued Angmar’s interest. She came around to stand before Margery. “Indeed?”
“Aye.” Sybbyl pointed to the arch and whatever lay beyond. “There is a second in there.”
Matilda rolled her eyes. “Then go get her.”
Sybbyl glared at the elder, what little respect she had been able to muster earlier, leaving quickly. “If I could, I would not be standing here speaking with you.”
Angmar walked to the arch and looked at the faded carvings. She then whirled around, her eyes wide. “Did you really?”
“Find where the Staff of the Eternal is?” Sybbyl asked with a smirk. “Aye. And it is inside. I sent men in after it. Three were killed, but then I sent another. He has been in there ever since.”
Matilda frowned and tucked a strand of red hair behind her ear. “Why did you not stop the other Hunter?”
“I was doing that, and doing it well,” Sybbyl said and pointed to Margery and Simon. “Then these two arrived and took my focus off the Hunter for just a moment. That’s when she darted through the arch.”
Angmar returned her attention to the doorway. “Is there another way out?”
“Nay,” Sybbyl replied.
Matilda came up beside her and leaned her face close. “You appear very confident.”
Sybbyl turned her head and looked into Matilda’s amber eyes before pointing at Randall. “Because he told me. His family has been in charge of keeping the staff from us for generations.”
Randall’s head was down. He hadn’t spoken or moved during any of the fights that had broken out, not even when someone bumped into him. She had well and truly broken him.
Matilda walked over to Bryce and grabbed his hair to yank his head back. He reluctantly met her gaze. “This...man was in charge of keeping the staff hidden?”
“He attempted to stand against me, but once I showed him my power and the extremes I was willing to go to in order to claim the staff for the Coven, he willingly gave me the information I wanted,” Sybbyl explained.
“And all these years, we thought the Bryce family was powerful enough to keep us out.” Matilda shoved him so that he fell onto his back.
Sybbyl swiveled her head to Angmar. “I am going to deliver the staff to you. That is why I requested your presence. I am also
going to hand over two Hunters so we can gain knowledge of the group. And the identity of the witch who is helping them.”
Angmar turned to face her. “What do you mean?”
“That,” Sybbyl said and jerked her chin at the sword. “A witch has spelled it.”
Matilda grimaced as she raked her gaze over Sybbyl’s body. “You are lucky none of the wounds were any deeper. Otherwise, you would be dead.”
As if she didn’t know that. Sybbyl stared at the elder for a long moment before she turned her attention back to Angmar. “Two of the councilmembers are gone. The spots need to be filled.”
“And you want one of them,” Angmar replied with a knowing look.
Sybbyl squared her shoulders. “Has any other Coven member given you a bone from the First Witch.”
“You have not either,” Matilda said. “You found its location, but nothing more. Eleanor found the location of the Blood Skull, too, but she could not get to it. And then she died.”
“I will not perish.”
Angmar laughed softly. “Bold words.”
“Fine,” Sybbyl said, keeping most of the heat from her voice. “I have produced a Hunter. That in itself should count for something.”
“I agree.” Angmar looked at Matilda. “You?”
Matilda curled her lip at Sybbyl. “Aye, but grudgingly. I do not like her.”
Sybbyl opened her mouth to reply when a sound came from the darkness of the arch. She thought it would be Ravyn who appeared, but to her shock, it was Carac. And he carried a staff.
“What an audience,” Carac said as he looked around. His gaze landed on Simon for a moment. Then his eyes moved from Matilda to Angmar. “I suppose the two of you are the Coven elders?”
“Aye,” Angmar said. “Now, hand me the staff.”
Carac remained just within the confines of the arch. “I think I will hold onto it for a bit longer.”
“Carac,” Sybbyl called.
He raised a blond brow. “Is this where you threaten my men and the others in the castle if I do not bring it out to you?”
