Damn, Ciaran almost kicked himself. Control your temper, he ordered. Logan was still too young for any of this. His brother didn’t need the guilt for something that wasn’t his fault.
“We need to gather our thoughts, not argue,” Giles suggested, looked at his sister, and asked, “miss, could you tell us everything again? Maybe there was something we overlooked. A detail that seemed unimportant?”
Natalie retold her story with eyes closed, as if she was trying to relive it in order to remember the smallest detail. But at the end it wasn’t helpful, and Ciaran felt frustration creeping up on him again.
“The description of the tall dark stranger with a black horse and a sword really helps us,” Ciaran snorted, though he had to admit his brother couldn’t offer much more. More importantly, what really mattered was an amulet of Arushna Natalie had mentioned. Which meant Amira was utterly helpless.
And if he was a Venlordian, she was far worse than doomed.
“I just know one thing,” she insisted: “Amira is alive, I feel it, and…” Natalie’s voice sharpened a tone, “you may think otherwise, Ciaran, but she can take care of herself—she has the power.”
“And you are delusional,” he whispered under his breath.
“One day you’ll regret you weren’t nicer to your sister,” a familiar voice drifted into the conversation, catching him off guard. Ciaran pivoted, fast on his heels, searching for the source of the sound, yet encountering nothing but an empty space.
He was about to demand for the person, creature, whoever it was, to show herself, when a translucent figure flickered inside the doorframe, revealing the face of a woman he had known since both of them were children.
He failed. Ciaran’s fist landed on a huge, oak desk, the sound deafening to his own ears.
“Dear Gods,” Natalie covered her mouth with her palms. After a moment, sobs broke from deep inside her, spilling copious fresh tears onto her cheeks.
“She’s dead,” someone gasped.
“Don’t cry.” Amira took a step toward Natalie. “Despite the appearances, I am very much alive.”
“Then where are you?” Ciaran demanded, still confused by what he was seeing.
Amira shook her head in a blatant refusal to answer.
“Where are you?” he repeated, gritting his teeth. He leaned on the desk, letting his hands support his weight, and stared her down, daring her to refuse again.
“Don’t come after me,” she said instead.
“You have got to be kidding me!” Ciaran violently pushed himself off the surface of the furniture and strode toward her with no real plan of what he was going to do. “I’ve had it with your constant disappearances,” he all but shoved his finger into her face. “You listen to me carefully—”
“Don’t look for me,” Amira continued as if she hadn’t been interrupted. “Trust me, please,” she added, and vanished, leaving him dumbstruck.
Ciaran ripped at his hair with his fingers, barely restraining himself from pulling out a tuft of it. If she thought he was going to sit and wait, she was sorely mistaken.
“We go after.” Logan stated, not even pretending it could be a question.
“We go after.” Ciaran nodded.
* * *
Amira inhaled deeply, keenly aware of a sluggish return into her battered, exhausted body. She exhaled and had to dig her nails in, to prevent herself from leaving with the gush of air.
She swayed back, landing on a soft mattress, her arms and legs splayed across the bed. Deadened with fatigue, Amira stared at the ceiling, watching vision after vision play against the smooth surface.
She saw Ciaran heading to the stables in another attempt to find her. Saw him succeeding, instinctively knowing his rescue to be a disaster in disguise.
No need to panic, she assured herself. There was still time to prevent it. If she could muster enough energy.
She should never have spirit-walked in such a condition. Especially since she knew her pleas would fall on deaf ears. What had possessed her? Where was this need to ease the minds of people she barely knew coming from?
A storm whipped up inside her, strong enough to shatter the windows all around, only sparing the glass for the sole reason that she had too little power at her disposal right now. This didn’t prevent it from wreaking havoc in her mind, or heart, though.
Amira was overwrought by feelings she found hard to comprehend. Or control. Feelings that compelled her to find her parents and ascertain their wellbeing. She closed her eyes and separated herself from her body with such an ease, she froze for a moment to consider the risks.
The process had been too swift. As if her essence was ready to leave her body permanently. However, the nagging presentiment she had was stronger than the fear. Her only regret was that she couldn’t sing. Didn’t want to alert people to what she was doing this early in the morning.
Amira reached with her senses as far as she could, grateful to the blood ties for keeping her on a straight path, and found them in a shady inn with her uncle Regan and cousin Pharell.
Interesting place. She neared them, keeping herself invisible. Curious as to what could they be doing here.
“Why didn’t you bring Amira?” Regan whispered, though his voice was anything but gentle.
“I am not about to jeopardize the life of my daughter,” her father calmly said. “I would have thought you could understand that.” Such protectiveness, Amira almost rolled her eyes. Deron was a good man, but keeping her tucked away under lock and key was something Amira had never appreciated.
“I do understand,” the king’s voice interrupted her thought, “but wouldn’t you wish for the same if you were in my shoes?”
Her father stood silently, in a way answering the question.
“I prepared as many potions as I could,” Eliana said, taking Regan’s hand to comfort him. “The amulets won’t save them.”
“We will get your wife and daughter back,” her father added.
“So let’s go,” Pharell finally spoke, taking his eyes from the corridor for a second. Amira could sense fear and anxiousness in him. The first one was only natural, but the second surprised her. Her cousin was always the silent and logical one. He thought things through a hundred times before acting on them. He didn’t rush into anything. Ever. Impulsive, rash and anxious were simply not in his vocabulary. He was as calm as Ciaran was hotheaded, though she supposed his mother and sister being in danger changed many things.
Even the steady gaze she was so used to flickered with emotions she had never seen before. He was burning inside and out, his control on a very short leash.
Amira’s heartbeat grew stronger, faster, threatening to expose her lurking form. She could not allow her emotions to get the better of her. Not when she was barely keeping herself together. Watching her gorgeous cousin so distraught and torn, however, was harder than she would have ever thought possible.
Breathe, she ordered herself, knowing how tenuous her control was. You won’t help anyone if you let it slip. Especially not her family.
Her family—the words rang in Amira’s ears. An answer to the questions she had asked before. She’d had many families, yet she rarely let herself get attached. It wasn’t worth it, Amira had always told. Nevertheless, somehow these people managed to get under her skin.
“We won’t help them if we’re caught,” Eliana tried to sound calm. Something Amira knew she didn’t feel right now.
“We can’t risk waiting any longer,” Pharell almost yelled, his fingers clenching into fists. “My mother and sister are with those bastards. What do you think they are doing to them, aunt?” He all but spat his words, his blue eyes burning with rage.
Pharell left his spot by the door and began pacing back and forth, his hip-length braid swishing like a whip through the air every time he made a hasty turn. He was on the edge. The smallest squeak, and in a second his hands were guaranteed to land on the handles of his two long slim blades that were crossed on his back.
“Pharell,” Regan breathed in warning, “as long as we do what we’re told, they are safe. Safe,” he added one more time, as if to convince himself rather than his son.
Amira sighed. She could have freed them in a matter of hours. Not in this form though. Not when she could only affect their minds for a handful of moments. And considering the distance…
If only she were free.
What good were all these powers if she couldn’t run from a place where no one was capable of holding her? Amira knew that the moment she escaped she would be signing her own death warrant. She would sooner be struck by lightning, or fall off the horse and break her neck than reach her destination. And what good would that do for any of them? No, she needed to work on Raven and hope the women survived till then. Hope she survived till then.
“I still have a few people I can trust,” the king continued, “but we can’t strike for another few days. There’s a whole army of them down there right now. But according to my source they are planning to move. Most of them anyway. Something big must be happening for them to concentrate such forces. When they leave, we go in.”
Amira stared at them as they analyzed the passages on the dungeon map, trying to find the safest escape route, when she sensed something. Stairs creaking. Steps approaching.
Damn. “They are approaching,” Amira whispered a warning for her mother’s ears alone, and moved to intercept the danger, not lingering for a moment. She could not allow Regan to be caught by the members of the Order. The consequences would be too dire.
Despite her determination, Amira felt her form flicker. She was too weak to generate a distraction that would last. A minute at most—even that seemed to demand a miracle.
She took a deep breath in and stretched her hands, not even looking as her family ran the other way. Finally she could see the Venlordians. Damn. And double damn. There were ten of them. Still she concentrated hard and entered their minds. All at the same time. They stopped. Shook their heads, confused at what was happening. Not understanding the sudden emptiness around them.
Amira would have kept them immobile a bit longer, but the amulets were draining her, and the strongest of them was already starting to see walls around him. She had to draw back. Instead, she inhaled one last time and sent another wave through them.
As soon as it left her, she stumbled, almost falling to the knees, her own mind dizzy. She had reached her limit, she knew it. She needed to return to her body as soon as possible. Only it was so far, and without the singing she was losing her path. There was nothing to guide her.
Bright Eyes… she heard a faint echo. Bright Eyes, wake up…
Amira opened her eyes, recognizing Martha’s voice as the woman shook her shoulders. She was so grateful for her good timing, she didn’t realize her powers were still unleashed. Martha’s initiated contact had acted like a catalyst and, before she knew what had happened, a memory sprung up out of the hidden corner of the woman’s mind.
“I won’t let her take you,” Martha whispered, trying to hide the boy.
Fear in dark eyes met her gaze.
Martha stumbled back, the connection lost just as quickly as the memory. The woman was pale. Too pale for Amira’s liking.
She sighed, and reversed the damage she’d inadvertently caused. Yet again using energy she could hardly spare. She was on the verge of drifting away. Her essence refusing to merge completely with her physical body after the return.
Not good. Amira sat in the bed wondering if she could curl in a small ball and forget the world for a while. Not likely. She couldn’t even find out what happened to the woman and the boy from the vision. Not if she wanted to kill Martha.
The woman’s mind had already been tampered with. By an amateur, no less. Given Martha’s advanced age and Amira’s state, she simply didn’t dare. She wouldn’t have dared, even if she wasn’t so weak.
“You alright, child?” Pale brown eyes met Amira’s.
“Yes,” she reassured her, glad the little incident had gone undetected. “I was probably a bit more tired than I thought.” The understatement of the century.
“Come, you need to eat.” The woman was already standing up and waiting for her to get up, dress, and follow.
Well, the good news was—Amira’s condition wasn’t too obvious. The bad news—if she didn’t find a way to unite her essence with her body once again, and soon, she wouldn’t last long. Especially if she needed to use magic.
“Won’t there be trouble? Amira asked, not having the slightest wish to get up from such a fine bed. Wishing, however, was a luxury she rarely enjoyed.
“Don’t be silly, child,” Martha smiled, and handed her a gown. “What is the worst that could happen?”
“I could think of a few things,” Amira replied, taking the garment. Slowly, she donned the light-blue gown, not sparing a second to admire the quality of the hand-embroidered skirt hem and long sleeves. It could have been rags for all she cared. She was dressed, and that was enough.
Reluctantly Amira followed the woman out of the room and down the stairs, aware that she herself was being followed the whole time. She’d expected it. What she didn’t expect, though, was a banquet prepared for her as if she were an honorable guest rather than a prisoner.
Amira hoped Martha knew what she was doing. She suspected the woman was courting trouble. Perhaps if she hurried, Amira thought, she would spare both herself and the woman a nasty surprise.
So forgetting the good manners, bred into her from childhood, some ten or twenty life spans before, she dug in. Stuffed herself fully before the clock could chime ten minutes of her stay downstairs. And yet, she still wasn’t fast enough, Amira gasped, as she came face to face with Raven the moment she stepped through the door.
Their eyes locked immediately onto each other’s, drawing her into the world where nothing existed except the two of them. And judging from the way he sucked in his breath, Raven followed right after her.
The moment broke as quickly as it began, leaving her shaky on her feet, cursing this damned lust which made a fool out of her every time … her thoughts trailed off as the air around her changed so suddenly, she took an involuntary step back.
“Take. It. Off.” Raven mouthed silently. But the impact of those clipped, stern words was far stronger than if he’d been shouting. There was no fire burning in his gaze anymore. Only cold, unyielding determination to rip every last ruffle off of her if she didn’t comply immediately.
There was not a drop of the warmth she’d seen the previous night. Not a single trace of lust as his gaze travelled down her body. His face was hard, brutally unreachable. It had nothing to do with him wanting to see her naked, and everything with the fact that in his mind she had just defiled this beautiful gown, which clearly belonged to someone precious to him.
Why did Martha give it to her? A question formed in Amira’s head the same instant she saw Raven turn his attention to the woman, who, despite his obvious anger, stood as relaxed as ever. Even with a small wry smile on her lips.
“You crossed the line,” was all he said to her, before turning back to Amira. “Was I not clear?” he asked, swallowing up the few feet that lay between them.
“Crystal clear,” Amira uttered, more than willing to give the garment back. It was not worth fighting over it. Except Raven was standing in front of her, blocking her way to the room. “Am I supposed to—”
“Lady Catherine would’ve loved to—” Amira was interrupted by Martha, but the woman was not able to finish her sentence either.
“Don’t you dare tell me what my mother would or would not have loved to give to a witch. Don’t you fucking dare!” he yelled at her, his restraint breaking down completely.
Amira felt as if she were intruding, truly wishing she hadn’t gotten up from her bed today. It was painful to watch Martha being flayed by that tone. But before she could do anything, another voice entered into the mix.
“My lord, my lord!” Judy ran inside, as if she was being chased
by an axe murderer. “My lord,” she breathed heavily, without being able to explain what had happened. The girl trembled like the last leaf in a cold autumn breeze.
Everyone turned to the maid, the damned drama with the dress now forgotten.
Raven pulled a chair for her and crouched before her. “Easy now, take a deep breath,” he kept talking, calming the girl, not a shadow of his anger seeping into the words he uttered. “Now, breathe out and tell me what happened.”
Judy did as she was told, and after wiping off the tears, whispered, “Owen, my lord. He didn't leave.”
Raven pinched the bridge of his nose, as if knowing the day was about to get even worse. “And?” he prompted.
“He murdered Nyssa,” the girl confirmed his fears.
Chapter 12
Amira quickly gathered her skirts and rushed after Raven, the three barely audible words Judy had uttered roaring like a thunder inside her head.
He murdered Nyssa.
Owen had murdered Nyssa. If it was true… She hastened her pace and almost bumped into Raven, as he came to a sudden halt.
Masses of people were gathered around. Weeping. Gaping in awe. Murmuring. For Raven, the crowd separated at once, letting him pass. Amira, however, had to fight her way through the mob, reaching the middle of it just in time to hear the morbid news.
“I’m very sorry,” Raven whispered, placing his hand lightly on the shoulder of the weeping woman. She cowered and hugged the limp frame of a young girl tighter, closer to her heart. The frantic sobs raking the woman’s body intensified. And after a moment she began chanting Nyssa’s name, as if willing her daughter to awaken.
“Why?” she creamed in anguish. “Why?”
It was a gruesome sight that Amira witnessed. Blood and sorrow, despair and bewilderment. She glanced at Raven, whose face was taut with anger and sadness. His eyes sharp in a way she’d never seen before. She studied Nyssa’s pale skin and huge empty eyes, and gasped.
“There’s still hope.”
Till Death And Beyond (Witch World) Page 9
