by Nora Roberts
It was Ondrea who spoke with a sneer. “I know who you are, Moon Witch. Do you think you need to tell me something so simple? Your silly powers didn’t even awaken you when my servants invaded your castle by the light of your moon and took what I wanted from your sister. You are pathetic. Feeble. And powerless before me. You cannot take back what I stole—it is now mine for a hundred years. You’d need to destroy me in order to get it back and that is no more likely than the moon ever shining in Org.”
Ondrea tilted her head to one side and tapped a finger against her cheek. “And for your affrontery in daring to enter my kingdom, you will now pay the price.”
“It is you who must pay a price.” Gwynna’s eyes burned into Ondrea’s, which changed from purple to angry storm-blue as Gwynna spoke. “You stole from my sister what you lack. Beauty. Life. Spirit. You are hundreds of years old, an ancient shriveled crone. And it’s time you were stripped of all that is not yours and sent to a resting place as dark and deep and cold as you are.”
Even as she spoke the words, Gwynna felt the rat’s feet resting on her wrist and knew that he was gnawing at her bonds. The poor creature had told her he was kept by Ondrea as a pet, but even he, a lowly rat, was revulsed by the evil rampant in the fortress. He had a family of his own, a family to return to—if ever he was released. And Gwynna had promised him that release in exchange for his help.
By now, Keir’s bonds were severed, and in a moment hers would be, too. Her heart pounded with tension. Everything depended on what she did in the next few moments. Lise’s life. Keir’s life. And hers.
She braced herself as Ondrea’s face darkened with anger and the sorceress’s hands clenched. Then Leopold touched a hand to Ondrea’s arm, and murmured, “Perhaps our guest is thirsty? I’m sure she would enjoy a cupful of what brews on the cauldron.”
Ondrea laughed then, sly pleasure replacing the anger on her face. “Why not? She has survived a long and arduous journey. We must be hospitable after all.”
The warlock crooked a finger at the enormous cauldron bubbling over the fire. It lifted from its hook and drifted through the air, making its way toward him.
“Isn’t that just like a warlock?” Keir managed a caustically mocking laugh, though fear for Gwynna punched through him. “I should have known you wouldn’t fight like a real man.”
Leopold held up a hand and the cauldron paused in midair. The warlock advanced on Keir.
“You talk too much, human. Your words vex me. I don’t need magic to quell the likes of you,” he growled and grabbed Keir by the hair, dragging him to his feet. As he pulled back an arm to strike the captured man, Keir suddenly whipped his arms from behind him and seized the warlock by the throat.
“You’re now done with words, warlock. And with spells. Forever.”
It all happened so quickly Leopold didn’t have time to mutter a spell or a curse. His hands latched onto Keir’s bulging arms and tried to break the grip on his throat, but Keir was far stronger, and his fingers bit like spikes into the Cruvian king’s flesh.
Ondrea lifted an arm, anger sputtering on her lips, but even as she tried to get the words out, Gwynna sprang at her, shoving her backwards onto the couch.
Gwynna whipped the half-moon talisman from her pocket and held it aloft before the sorceress could move or speak.
At the sight of it, Ondrea’s now black eyes widened, fear crossing her face.
“By the magic of all the Sisters of the Moon and Seekers of the Good, I command you to freeze!” Gwynna cried.
But to her dismay, her words had no effect. Instead Ondrea rose, swift and dangerous as a snake. “Your magic has no power here. Give that trifle to me.”
“This is no trifle and it does not belong to you, Evil One. It belongs to those who have pledged their lives to good.”
“Wexyll-domsor-parsnopurm!” Ondrea shouted, stretching forth her hand commandingly, but the half-moon stayed securely within Gwynna’s grasp. It tingled with power and Gwynna thought frantically what to do next.
The talisman didn’t work upon Ondrea—and Gwynna’s own magic was still useless. But the talisman hadn’t responded to Ondrea’s command. So it must have another purpose, another power all its own. What could it be? she wondered, her mind racing. What must I do?
She glanced over in time to see Keir release Leopold. The warlock sank to the ground, his face purple and still, his eyes staring blankly, and Keir wasted no time dragging the emerald ring from his finger and sliding it onto his own hand.
At the same instant, the cauldron thudded to the floor, released from its spell.
“Look out!” Keir shouted and she whirled back to see Ondrea advancing upon her, trying to snatch the talisman away.
But Gwynna jumped back out of reach and raced across the room to a round serving table, putting it between her and the sorceress.
“You will not touch this. It’s going to destroy you!” she warned. “And then all that you stole will be returned to my sister!”
“That trinket cannot destroy me. Nothing made by those dedicated to good can destroy me. But I’ll have it just the same. And then I’ll have your head on a platter and let the rats and the vampires feast on it!” Ondrea screamed.
She spun toward Keir as he advanced on her and made a swift pattern with her fingers in the air. Keir stopped dead, clutching his throat. He began to gasp and choke, his skin darkening as Leopold’s had.
“Keir! No!” But as she watched in horror he crashed to the floor, writhing and twitching upon the black and gold carpet—strangling to death before her eyes.
“Give it to me and I’ll release him,” Ondrea said as Gwynna rushed to him, kneeling at his side in anguish. She summoned her most powerful spell-breaking charm and muttered it rapidly, but it had no effect.
The agony upon his face ripped her heart out. Somehow he managed to gasp out several words. “Don’t . . . give it . . . to her. . . .”
“Stop—stop!” Gwynna cried. “Release him and I’ll consider!”
“Give it to me and then I’ll release him.” Ondrea’s eyes shone triumphantly as she noted the grief in Gwynna’s face, the need to save this man at any cost.
Suddenly the rat sprang onto Gwynna’s shoulder as she knelt beside Keir.
Its whiskers twitched as it spoke to her, telling her the secret, telling her what she must do.
“Silence, rat!” Ondrea screeched. “Is this the thanks I get for keeping you? What are you doing?” she cried as Gwynna suddenly raced to the balcony doors, the rat leaping from her shoulder to scurry under the table.
“Don’t—don’t!” Ondrea’s shout rang through the chamber as Gwynna flung the doors wide and burst onto the balcony high above the gray desolation of Org.
Even as Ondrea dashed out the doors after her, Gwynna drew back her arm and hurled the talisman high into the night as hard and as high as she could. Her heart filled her throat as she wondered if it would be high enough, powerful enough to do what must be done.
But the talisman took on a power of its own as it soared up. Like a comet it streaked, higher and higher, a brilliant glimmer, until suddenly it burst through, tearing a black hole in the thick gray sky, ripping it asunder.
As the black hole grew and grew, the grayness unraveled in tatters.
Ondrea screamed behind her, but Gwynna couldn’t tear her gaze from the spectacular sight of the grayness dissipating and darkness filling the sky. Darkness and something else . . . the rich pearly glow of the moon.
The moon shone upon her face, her midnight hair. It shone upon the desolation of Org and sent slender silver beams of light dancing across the sad and empty land, glittering like fairy dust.
Then Gwynna felt a surge of energy through her. Her fingertips and toes tingled.
Power. Magic.
It was all coming back.
Stars glittered like enormous jewels, spangling the velvet blackness, winking at the moon.
A shriek of tortured fury poured from Ondrea’s throat behind her a
nd she whirled to face the sorceress.
“You’ve ruined everything, Moon Witch!’
As Ondrea charged toward her, Gwynna held up a hand, and this time, the sorceress was stopped dead in her tracks.
“Yoportmante,” Gwynna said coldly.
Ondrea flew backwards into the chamber, landing with a thump against the wall, then sinking to the floor, a dazed expression on her face. But Gwynna was no longer heeding her. She rushed to Keir, lying still as a stone now upon the floor.
For one heart-shattering moment she thought he was dead, but then she saw his chest rise ever so slightly and fall, and she knelt beside him.
Placing one of her hands upon his cheek, and the other upon his heart, she spoke the reversal spell Antwa had taught her.
Nothing happened and tears scalded her eyes. She repeated the spell, more urgently and commandingly, and as she finished, one tear slipped down her cheek.
It dropped upon Keir’s lips.
“Oh, my darling.” Her broken whisper shook with love. She touched her finger to the tear, pressed it against his lips. “Feel my grief. Feel my love. Do not leave me.”
As she whispered the words, Keir stirred. His eyes opened and he gazed up at her. A weak smile curved his lips.
“Gwynna. I won’t ever leave . . . you,” he croaked.
In that instant, she forgot everything else but that her love was alive. She bent and touched her lips to his, felt their warmth, and in them sensed the beating of his heart.
But suddenly, the cauldron Leopold had first summoned careened toward them.
Ondrea’s words rolled through her head. Nothing made by those dedicated to good can destroy me.
But something evil might, Gwynna thought. She snapped out a freezing spell and the cauldron stopped, hovering above the carpet. Gwynna sprang to her feet, concentrating fiercely on the cauldron as Ondrea faced her from across the chamber.
Slowly, Keir managed to raise himself to a sitting position. Ignoring the lingering pain from Ondrea’s spell, Keir watched a great battle begin.
Gwynna, her dark hair gleaming in the moonlight that flowed from the balcony, was silently directing the cauldron toward Ondrea. But every time it advanced, Ondrea lifted her hand, made a swift twisting pattern in the air and the cauldron halted—then began to glide slowly toward Gwynna once again.
Back and forth they went. Again . . . and again.
Keir could see the concentration pursing Gwynna’s lips, the whiteness of her cheeks as she willed the cauldron to obey with all the skill and power she possessed.
And suddenly, the cauldron swung toward Ondrea and this time it did not slow, did not shift direction.
Sweat glistened upon the sorceress’s perfect face. Her eyes bulged with concentration. And yet the cauldron sailed near . . . nearer . . .
Fear glazed Ondrea’s eyes, and they turned a dark frenzied shade of orange as she wove her hand frantically through the air.
As he looked toward Gwynna, Keir saw the opposite. Her face was calm, intense, but it shone with hope, and her eyes were bright and fixed upon her goal. Now it was Gwynna who looked as powerful and unstoppable as time and death and heaven.
The cauldron drifted steadily toward Ondrea, halting before her, hovering just out of her reach, teetering back and forth.
Back . . . and forth . . .
Suddenly Gwynna darted forward. With a cry, she seized the cauldron, snatching it from the realm of spells. Then she swung it up and tilted it, pouring the sticky boiled brew over Ondrea.
“Good cannot kill you, but evil will,” she cried as the foul red liquid streamed over the sorceress’s hair and garments and ran in rivulets down her face.
Ondrea shuddered violently, but couldn’t seem to move her arms or legs. Her mouth opened, closed, opened again and a silent scream exploded from her lips, which seemed to drip blood. The scream could not be heard, but it was felt by Gwynna and Keir—it rang through them, empty and hollow and cold as Ondrea’s heart.
Again and again she screamed, but no sound filled the chamber, and then, suddenly, black smoke burst from her mouth and eyes and enveloped her. The clouds of smoke were thicker than night and when they vanished an instant later, Ondrea, too, was gone.
All that remained was a small charred pile on the floor where she’d stood. A pile of gray ash.
“Lise. Come back . . . come back to us,” Gwynna muttered, half in hope, half in prayer as she swayed on her feet, struggling to stay upright. The contest with Ondrea had drained her far more than any of her visions ever had. She felt as though her blood had turned to water.
But even as she tried to turn toward Keir, to help him, he was already at her side, his arms sliding around her, holding her up.
“You did it, Gwynna. You destroyed Ondrea.”
“It almost cost me . . . you. Oh, Keir,” she gasped. “Her spell . . . nearly killed you. Are you all right?”
Keir wrapped his arms more tightly around her and drew her close. “I’ve never felt as all right as I do now.”
He scooped her up into his arms as her knees buckled and cradled her close.
“Do you know what you’ve done? You’ve freed the moon, the stars, the sun. The dark creatures that hid here under the protection of Ondrea’s evil spell will now be exposed to light, and they will hide and flee. The Valley of Org is no more as it was.”
“But her Black Knights. The vampires. The demons . . .”
“With any luck, they’ll lose their courage now that their protectress is gone—defeated by a moon witch of Callemore.”
“We must find a way out of here, out of Org. I have no strength now for a vision, but I must know about Lise—”
“You’ll know, Gwynna. We’ll make our way to Callemore and find your sister. And she’ll be well and strong and beautiful. Though not as beautiful as you are.”
But Gwynna didn’t hear these last words. She had already slipped into a swoon, filled with dreams of gnomes and rats and cauldrons—and of a great half-moon sailing through the sky, frosting the silver night with moonbeams and shadows.
Chapter 11
SUNIGHT filled the garden at Callemore Castle the morning after the wedding.
Queen Lise strolled arm in arm with her husband among the sweet-smelling rose bushes and apricot trees, laughing and reminiscing in delight about the celebration.
“Did you not think Gwynna’s gown lovely, William? Such a pale elegant gold, soft as a cloud. Did you see how it shimmered in the torchlight? And the jewelled collar—Antwa fashioned it herself, you know, from diamonds and moonstones, rubies and faeries’ gold.”
“I didn’t know. But Gwynna always looks charming. She is nearly, very nearly, as lovely as her sister,” William said, his eyes twinkling as Lise shot him a laughing look.
“You are so politic, my lord,” she praised him.
“I am so married, my queen,” he replied, and pulled her into his arms amidst the flower beds and unicorn statuary.
“After what Gwynna did for you—for us,” William continued in a more sober tone, “I wish her every happiness—forever. And I’ll do anything in my power to assure that she knows only happiness,” he went on quietly, tenderly stroking his wife’s face.
“Then perhaps you should be guarding the bridal door,” Lise suggested, her mouth quivering with laughter. “From the way Gwynna and Keir were gazing at each other last night, I am quite certain they’d be extremely happy if no one disturbed them in their chamber for a fortnight. But I’m certain the servants will insist on bringing at least a tray of food before the sun goes down today.”
William chuckled. “I remember our wedding night,” he said softly, nibbling her ear, and Lise grinned as she pulled him down on a bench beside her.
“I only hope Gwynna, who risked so much, fought so hard and saved us both, will be half as happy as you and I.”
William kissed her on the mouth, a loving, lingering kiss that made Lise’s heart swell with the joy of being alive.
“Based on what I’ve seen and heard between Gwynna and her Duke of Blackthorne, I don’t think you need worry about your sister ever again,” he murmured. “Keir adores her. Almost as much, my darling, beautiful Lise, as I adore you.”
IN a separate part of the garden, Antwa leaned against an apple tree, listening to the song of birds in the branches and remembering how Gwynna had sung in her chamber as she prepared to don her bridal gown. She smiled to herself, pleasure filling her heart.
The premonition I felt the day Gwynna left for Org has indeed come true, she reflected with satisfaction. But it has not proved dire—it has proved instead a blessing.
For the Gwynna who had returned was not the same, but the changes that had come hadn’t been for the worse, they’d been for the better. Callemore’s princess hadn’t lost anything of her goodness or spirit or will; she had simply become more. More wise, more powerful, more good. More of a woman and more of a witch.
Antwa glanced toward the castle, where the girl she’d taught since childhood was now a woman in her husband’s arms.
“And so it shall be,” she murmured aloud, remembering the vision she’d had after the ceremony—of children and laughter and peace.
“The fruits of hope,” Antwa told the bird that perched on her shoulder, its feathers ruffling her ear. “Now she’ll reap only happiness. For all of her days.”
HIGH above the garden, in a wide, high-ceilinged chamber, the bride and bridegroom awoke in each other’s arms.
Gwynna was the first to awaken and to find herself curled naked beside Keir’s long, hard-muscled form. She smiled, stretched like a cat and cuddled against him again, recalling the wedding, and the wedding night and everything they had done and said to each other when they were alone at last by the light of the fire.
She pushed herself up on one elbow and studied his face, that hard-planed, devastatingly handsome face she had first thought so devoid of emotion.
