Captive Witch

by September Stone

Silas… Well, Silas might help to save his own ass.

  As I mix together the first set of ingredients, a wave of dizziness overtakes me and my vision blackens around the periphery. I press my hands into the wooden tabletop to keep my balance. My knees go weak and I fear I might drop to the ground.

  What the hell?

  I’ve experienced similar symptoms only a few times before, but only when I was toward the end of brewing exceedingly complex potions. Something as simple as this shouldn’t have this kind of effect on me.

  It takes several seconds before the bout passes and I can stand upright under my own power again. One of the guards has taken a few steps toward me, but she says nothing.

  I rub the pads of my fingers against the mark on my palm. Does this have something to do with the curse? Maybe it doesn’t kill the person all at once—perhaps it weakens the victim slowly until the full moon.

  I should have asked Silas the specifics about how it works. But it might not matter now.

  The only consolation is if I die today, Lillian won’t be able to absorb my magic.

  “Do you need something?” asks the female guard.

  I blink at her. “What do you mean?”

  She gestures to the table. “Are you missing an ingredient? Her Excellency said this potion should take less than an hour to brew. It’s been fifteen minutes already and you’re just adding the first ingredients.”

  I straighten my back, attempting to exude the kind of power Mona so effortlessly oozed when she entered a room. “It will take as long as it takes.”

  The guard raises her chin. “If it takes longer than an hour, we’re to bring you back to the elders’ chamber. If they believe you’re stalling, they’ll take it as an admission of guilt.”

  I grit my teeth before turning back to my work table. Not that it matters much one way or the other. That Daya woman said a witch’s magical fingerprint is all over whatever potion she creates. I could take as long as humanly possible to create this potion and the result would be the same. In the eyes of the elders, I’m guilty. They’ll punish me whether I go through with their test or not.

  I add more elements to the cauldron, taking as much time as I dare without arousing the guards’ suspicions. Even as I run through possible plans for escape, I know my chances of getting out of here on my own are slim. Besides, if I did manage to make it out, what would happen to Poe? Will the elders take out their displeasure on him?

  There are ten minutes to go when another weak spell overtakes me. My vision goes black, and the next thing I know, I’m staring up into the female guard’s face.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Her strong hands grip my elbows and pull me roughly to my feet.

  My stomach sloshes with the swift motion and I swallow back bile. She releases me, but when I pitch forward, her hands are on me again.

  “Get the medic,” the guard snaps. “Maybe she poisoned herself.”

  I shake my head, regretting the motion immediately as stars pop in my vision.

  “I didn’t see her take anything,” a male guard replies. “You sure she’s not faking?”

  No matter how hard I attempt to stand and hold my balance, I keep swaying on my feet. This doesn’t make sense. Creating the sleeping draught shouldn’t make me feel this way. It’s not even completed yet.

  “You think we should just take her to the elders?” the woman asks. “Her time’s almost up anyway.”

  “No,” I manage to push out, my voice barely a whisper. “I’m almost done.”

  The guard releases me and I press my hands into the tabletop, pleased when I manage to stay on my feet. After a few deep breaths, the blackness in my periphery recedes and I measure out the last of the ingredients.

  As the potion changes from murky brown to silky blue in color, I begin feeling more like myself. Still a bit wobbly, but at least I can stand unsupported.

  But when a guard brushes past me to scoop out a vial of potion from the cauldron, my stomach lurches in a different way entirely.

  It’s time to face my doom.

  Chapter Twenty

  Silas

  I must be crazy. Or stupid. Maybe a mix of both.

  It only takes about fifteen minutes after the psychic leaves for the witch to decide we need to mount a rescue mission of our own.

  He’s not wrong, of course. All five of us have to go to Elowen if we have any chance of her breaking this curse. I certainly don’t want to die because of some magical mistake.

  But, spirits help me, I don’t want her to die, either. Even if our lives weren’t bound together right now, I don’t know if I could sit by knowing what the elders will do to her. She’s only in this situation because someone forced her to work magic against her will. I know better than most what it’s like to be forced to do someone else’s dirty work. She and I are the same, in that respect. As much as the others probably assume I don’t care what happens to her, I very much do. Spending your life as someone’s puppet is no way to live.

  Our plan is less than elegant, but Taj feels confident about it. Ironically, it’s Calder’s going it alone that gave Taj his idea.

  Neither one of us think Calder’s attempt will be successful. He’s one guy against an unknown enemy. But while the guards are busy dealing with him, we can take advantage of their confusion.

  At least that’s the hope.

  “Do your powers work inside?” Taj asks, pulling me from my thoughts.

  We’ve been sneaking through the forest in the direction Calder disappeared for the last fifteen minutes, but the forest here looks no different than it did before. The same impossibly tall trees tower over us, leaving the forest cloaked in a false twilight.

  It takes a second for Taj’s words to register. “What do you mean, do they work inside?”

  He stops, turning to me. “I’m not an expert on how a daemon’s powers work. But I know for witches with, say, an air affinity, they can direct air around them any time, but if they’re inside, there’s a limit to how strong a current they can generate. Last night, you were pelting us with hail and kicking up a helluva wind storm. Can you do that again once we’re inside?”

  I almost say yes before reality hits me like a sucker punch. I was bound to Lillian so long I almost forgot my limitations when I’m on my own. Being bound to a master—any master—focuses a daemon’s power. Each individual has limits, bound or not, and for most, their powers scale accordingly when tethered. I’m an outlier. As Taj and the others experienced last night, I’m a formidable force when bound. But when I’m on my own, my power displays are far weaker than they should be. Someone with my natural ability shouldn’t be able to do half of the things I did last night, even when bound by someone like Lillian.

  Instead of getting into the particulars, I shake my head. “No, not inside. And, uh, after last night, I’m not sure how much I’ll be able to pull off outside either.”

  Taj squints for a few moments before shrugging. “It isn’t as if we’ve got much of a choice. Do what you can. I’ll just plan on tossing fireballs at anyone I see.” His mouth twists in a wry grimace and I get the distinct feeling he’s not convinced his own idea will work.

  This plan is sounding more and more tenuous, but it doesn’t slow my pace through the woods. The elders don’t have a reputation for taking time to reflect before passing judgment, so we only have a small window before any hope we have at getting this curse removed is gone for good.

  When the trees thin in front of us, my throat goes dry. Despite my abundance of experience battling on Lillian’s behalf, left to my own devices, I’m not one to start trouble. My old man always taught me not to start a fight I couldn’t win.

  A battle against an unknown number of shifters is definitely one I can’t win. But, like Taj said, we don’t exactly have a choice.

  I just hope we don’t die in the process.

  When the grounds around the elders’ mansion come into view, I stop in my tracks. There’s zero cover between us and the building. As soon as
we step out of the forest, we’ll be sitting ducks.

  Calder was nuts to do this, and we’re nuts to follow in his tracks.

  I spot three guards without even trying, but working for Lillian taught me that for every one visible guard, there are at least two more lurking just out of sight.

  I breathe out a well-practiced incantation before catching Taj by the wrist. We need some kind of diversion or we’ve got no chance.

  He nods grimly before turning to scan the massive estate before us. I close my eyes, taking stock of my ties to the arcane energies available to my kind. When I was bound to Lillian, my powers worked almost on autopilot. If something was the will of my master, my body would obey. Calling forth those abilities on my own is a more complex act, and it always takes me time to get back into the habit after I’ve been bound.

  I exhale and inhale again, prepared to repeat the process until I feel an inkling of power—but when energy rushes into my body the moment I breathe in, the unexpected sensation snaps my eyes open.

  What the hell was that?

  Taj holds his hand out before him like he plans to summon a fireball. Fat lot of good that’ll do us all the way over here. But before I can touch his arm to push another thought into his head, faint shouts rise up from the mansion and guards start running toward the back of the building where a thick black smoke rises.

  When his gaze flicks to me, his eyes are filled with wonder.

  “Did you do that?” I mutter, keeping my voice as low as possible.

  “Yes. But I have no idea how,” he whispers. “I’ve never started a fire that far away before.”

  “Well, let’s not look a gift horse in the mouth.” Without waiting to see if he’s following, I dart out onto the grounds. When I make it a half dozen strides without being attacked by any furry protectors, I pick up my pace.

  My nerve endings tingle, on high alert against any possible threat. But it’s more than adrenaline pumping through my veins. The primal power that swelled so easily at Lillian’s command surges beneath my skin, ready to be called on.

  When three men abandon the blaze and streak toward me, the sky shifts from glaring blue to dim gray in two heartbeats. When golfball-sized hail doesn’t slow them down, it takes little more than a thought to summon a rapid series of lightning strikes to pen them.

  A second group begins an attack run, and I’m disappointed when a ring of fire surrounds the men before I can unleash a second lightning cage. Unlike the dull ache of energy that accompanied doing Lillian’s bidding, the power filling me now is intoxicating in its sweetness. I’ve never felt anything like this before, and all I know is I don’t want it to stop.

  I’m less than ten meters from the front door when it bursts open and six shifters spill out. Hail falls from the sky at the suggestion of a thought, but this time the icy chunks are the size of softballs. Two men drop when hail balls crack them on the head, but before I can appreciate the beauty of two such perfect shots, something cold slams into my shoulder.

  “What the bloody hell are you doing?” Taj shouts from behind me.

  Before I can respond, another chunk of ice hits my back and I stumble forward.

  “Turn it off!” Taj yells as I slip in the slushy grass.

  I stick out my arms to break my fall, but my hands slide out in front of me. As my face smashes into the ground, another frozen ball glances off the side of my skull.

  Taj bellows in pain, and a second later, searing heat tickles my back before roaring into an inferno overhead. What does this nutjob witch plan to do? Melt away the hail before it can fall?

  But even as my indignation flares, a wave of nausea rolls through me. Something’s wrong. My power never comes this easily. I should’ve known something bad would happen.

  The dull thuds of hail hitting the ground dissipate, replaced with the squelching footfalls of guards as they close the distance to us. When hands clamp down on my upper arms, I’m powerless to stop the men from dragging me to my feet. I’m nearly boneless, my limbs unresponsive as the guards haul me toward the mansion.

  A low moan behind me is enough to know Taj is being given the same treatment.

  Everything in me wants to fight, but I’m powerless. This rescue attempt was a stupid move. What in spirits’ name was I thinking? If they killed Bryn, at least I would’ve had my three weeks to make peace with the world before the mark claimed me, too. Now, I’m sure the elders will be more than happy to exact justice on behalf of their guards and the sanctity of their fortress.

  I can barely focus on the ornate decorations as they drag me through a series of halls. It isn’t until the guy holding me stands me on my feet inside a cathedral-like room that my surroundings register. My eyes land on the dais at the front of the room and the five thrones upon it. Even in my groggy state, I don’t miss that the seat on the far right is empty.

  “Ah,” says the woman in the center of the dais as she peers down at us. “It seems more of the witch’s friends have come to support her during this phase in her trial. Very well.”

  Taj, who’s being held stationary beside me, raises his chin. I follow the gesture until my gaze lands on Calder. His hands are shackled, the leading chain mounted to the wall behind him. Although he must have heard the woman’s words, his eyes don’t flick to us.

  I scan the room and locate Poe standing on the side opposite Calder. Although he’s not shackled or pinned, the tight knot of guards around him makes me wonder if he isn’t entirely free. His jaw is tight as he stares at a golden circle in the center of the room.

  “Bring forth the accused.”

  When a door beyond where Poe stands opens, the room goes silent. A female guard hauls in a stumbling Bryn. Taj calls her name, earning a swift punch to the gut from his captor.

  Bryn’s face turns in our direction for a split second before the guard tugs her forward. If I didn’t know better, based on Bryn’s short, shuffling footsteps and the curve of her back, I’d be certain she’s been locked up here for more than an hour. Her posture cries weakness—or maybe it’s just defeat.

  My stomach twists and a rock-hard lump lodges itself in my throat. As much as I’d like to convince myself I can’t know what she’s going through right now, the fact is I probably have a better grip on her emotions than most. It could just as easily be me in her shoes, standing trial for a heinous act I never chose to commit. A desire to go to her builds up in my muscles so fiercely that it takes all my willpower not to struggle against my captor. Everything in me wants to comfort her. I want to assure her that no matter what the elders say, she’s not responsible for the terrible crimes Mona used her to accomplish. And I want it to be true—because if there’s hope for her, maybe there’s hope for me, too.

  As the woman drags Bryn to the center of the circle, a second guard brings a vial of sky-blue liquid to the elders.

  The raven-haired elder smiles as she takes it from him. “Now it is time for this body to pass its judgment. Here I hold a potion brewed by the hand of the accused.” She holds out her free hand and the slender man on her right places a second vial in her palm. “This is the remnant of the potion that killed His Excellency Amos Cross. If the magical signature of both creations match, we will have proof the witch Bryn is behind the murder of our fifth member.” A smirk pulls at the corners of her mouth when her eyes flicker toward the back of the room where Taj and I stand. “And when we have finished with her judgment, we’ll move on to decide the fates of her friends.”

  Dread coils in the pit of my stomach. Looks like we won’t have three weeks after all.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Bryn

  My heart pounds an erratic cadence as the elders pore over my newly brewed potion. Time seems to expand as they compare it to the poison that killed Amos.

  I try to read their expressions, but each is blank as stone.

  I can feel eyes on me, but I don’t turn around. I heard Taj call for me when they hauled me in, and I took in enough of the scene to confirm my worst
fears: they all came for me, and they’ll pay for that choice. And while it was odd to glimpse Calder standing apart from Taj, the most surprising thing was Silas’ presence. I wouldn’t have thought the daemon would risk himself for me.

  Poe stands far off to the right, not exactly part of things, but not entirely separate either. His jaw is set with grim determination, and though he gazes unwaveringly forward, his eyes are blank, like he’s not seeing what’s before him.

  Whatever punishment the elders decide on, they’re going to make him carry it out. And while it’s comforting to imagine him not being able to go through with it, of the two of us escaping my grisly fate and resuming our search for Elowen, I know too well the difference between fantasy and reality. If Poe decides he can’t follow through with the elders’ orders, it isn’t as if there’s a shortage of people here ready to do their masters’ bidding.

  Besides, even if Poe and I managed to escape, what would happen to Calder, Taj, and Silas? They could have cut their losses and gone off to make the best of what little time they have left, but they didn’t. They came for me, and that fact fills my heart while breaking it.

  They shouldn’t be here for this.

  The elders return to their thrones, drawing my attention back to the front of the room. Their expressions are all so blank that I begin to wonder if they possess emotions at all.

  “We have tested the potion made by the witch Bryn against the one that took a member of our number.” Daya speaks the words without looking at me. I doubt she’s looking at those gathered behind me, either. With her chin raised, she appears to be addressing nature itself. “The results are undeniable, and our judgment will be carried out immediately.”

  My knees go weak. I wish there were a chair here to collapse onto, but when my legs give out, I’ll have to settle for the hard tile floor. Part of me wants to sink there now, to curl up and pretend this isn’t happening. But I want to be strong. I have to—for Calder. For Taj. Hell, even for Poe and Silas. I don’t want their last memories of me to be of a childish girl who folded when faced with the consequences of her actions. If anyone ever tells my story, I want them to remember me as someone who stood her ground, even in the face of a punishment she didn’t deserve.