Authors: Inez Kelley
In her own chamber, she stripped off the soiled gown and splashed cool water across her cheeks. Once, her magic had held such promise. Her birth mother had been a third-level spellsinger and had died using magic to protect Jana during the Skullmen’s terror. Her father possessed gifted foreshadowing to keep the king from harm. With two magic-blooded parents, people expected her to have far greater powers. She’d even shown promise early, having her first vision before the age of two. But that was just the impending birth of her half-sister. Later she realized that too was just a reminiscent vision because the child already existed in her stepmother’s womb.
The bloodsong from Batu’s arm troubled her. What did it mean? Why did that call, that magic entreaty to touch the blood, spin through her? She had no power other than her backward sight.
A terrifying explanation slammed into her belly, and she crumpled to her knees. The threat to Batu came not from the present but from the past. Something in his bloodline, the royal bloodline, manifested in an evil that would kill him.
Her fingers rose to touch the pendant around her neck. An inexpensive circle of turquoise, more blue than green and polished to a satin finish, it was elegant in its simplicity. It had been her mother’s, given by her father on their wedding eve. He’d handed it down to Jana when she came of age. If only he could have handed down her magic as easily.
The small pendant stone cut into her palms. It wasn’t her mother’s magic she needed, it was her father’s grit. He’d sacrificed so much to bring peace to the land of Eldwyn—his first wife, his left eye, countless summers of bloodshed and battle. For so long that quiet had blanketed Eldwyn but Jana knew that mantle was slipping away faster than anyone could understand.
Her voice whispered into the silent room but rang with a truth she couldn’t deny. “I see the past.”
Magic hadn’t given her a purpose, not as it had the queen. A frown knotted Jana’s brow. She’d heard the stories all her life. Queen Myla, if the rumors were to be believed, had been created from a spell. Called as a guardian for an infant during wartime, she gave away her shape-shifting gift in order to become human, to become the wife of a king. Salome, her stepmother, had also been formed from herbs and spells. She’d come as a peacemaker during the Skullmen’s reign and fell in love with a warrior, choosing to trade her wings for a wedding.
A strange gnawing grew in Jana’s blood, a need to move, to know, to act. An inkling of an idea sprouted. Why couldn’t magic be called once more, this time to save Batu?
Both the queen and her stepmother had held far greater powers than her paltry reminiscent gifts. The magic Jana carried washed pale by comparison. But she didn’t lack grit and honor. She jerked a silk robe from the hook and thrust her arms in the sleeves as she darted from the bedchamber.
No one dared enter the king’s chambers without being summoned, no one except family. Jana had spent her childhood racing through the finely appointed rooms and hiding behind silk curtains. The walls were as familiar to her as her own room.
She knocked while turning the knob. “Queen Myla?”
The antechamber was empty but the bedchamber door stood open. Framed in the wooden archway, Queen Myla seemed willowy and slight, yet she filled the air with harnessed power. It was easy to believe the rumors when standing face to face with her, seeing the cat-slanted eyes, feeling the hair rise along your neck at her otherworldly gaze. “Jana?”
“Do you have a minute?”
One dark brow arched as the queen scrutinized her. “Always for you, Goddaughter. I owe you much. Taric told me what you did for Batu at the morning meal.”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” Jana straightened her spine. “The stories about...where you come from? They’re true, aren’t they?”
A feline lift to the queen’s lip sparked amusement in her eyes. “I do not lie, Jana. You know this.”
“And Salome? She was also a spell?” The queen nodded. Jana tightened the sash on her dressing gown, girding her nerves with silk. “I know my magic is weak compared to yours but my heart’s just as strong. Batu is my friend, the brother I never had. He’s my future king. I can’t sit by and watch him die. I
have
to do something.”
“There are guards aplenty and he has a captain, a bodyguard who has vowed to protect him. Why you?”
Words sprang from her mouth without thought. “Because I have to.”
“What would you have me do?”
“I want you to call another spell...for me.”
The queen spun around as if slapped. Surprise parted her lips. “For you?”
“I heard a song.” Jana closed her eyes but let the terrifying words loose. “Batu’s blood calls to me. Whoever wants him dead has something to do with his past, with the monarchy’s past.”
Jana watched as wild thoughts darted across the queen’s face. Comprehension paled her face. “That would explain much of what I have foreseen.”
“What have you seen?” The queen was unmatched in her foreshadowing prowess.
She waved Jana’s question away with an impatient hand. “Be sure, Jana. A spell may only be summoned once in a generation. You must be sure.”
“All I know is this feels right, like I’m supposed to do this.”
“Very well.” The queen’s glowing gaze arrowed tight on Jana, never wavering, just watching. She’d always known her godmother’s magic was unsurpassed but Jana had never seen the queen’s power so flagrantly displayed, as if it bubbled under her skin, barely contained. Her eyes began to glow and a fluidity flowed in her body.
“Long ago, your mother knew, in the ways of spellsingers and foreseers, that your destiny was foretold. Perhaps this is it. Come.”
The queen turned in a sharp twist, the hem of her red dressing robe swirling like blood along a creek. Jana focused her eyes on that swishing fabric and trailed her godmother. Despite the sun streaming in the stained-glass windows, torches snapped to life without a touch as the queen led the way down the hall, past the stairwell to a curved flight of steps. Guards and servants fell back as if she wielded a sword. The tower room door flung wide, the knob turned by magic. The hair along Jana’s nape rose.
A whoosh ignited in a burst of crackling flame inside the cold hearth. Shadows sprouted along the walls, ghostly specters that reached heavenward and danced in silent glee. The workroom door locked behind Jana, the ominous click loud in the near-sacred chamber. Feline grace imbued the queen’s walk to her worktable, each lithe, lean muscle poised for action.
On the counter, dozens of empty bowls rested, a pestle already cradling blended ingredients. The apprehension creeping along Jana’s skin crawled faster. The queen had anticipated this. What had she foreseen? Jana locked her knees to prevent them knocking.
“What have you seen?”
The monarch’s mouth thinned, the pestle slowing in her hand. “Foreshadowing is a gift that can bring such pain and is, at best, a vague hint of what’s to come. I know only as I see. I see Eldwyn in chaos. I see loss and pain, children starving and forests burned. I see families ripped apart and lies becoming currency. I see blood-drenched streets and barren fields.”
A single teardrop fell from her lashes, coursing over her cheek, and her voice sank to a painful whisper. “I see my eldest cold and still, his life ripped from his body. I no longer see Warric’s path. It is dark to me.”
“Why would it be dark?”
“I don’t know but it chills me.”
With renewed determination, the queen ground and shaved with a near-frantic pace, low words in a foreign tongue spilling from her lips. A burst of smoke from the bowl stung Jana’s eyes. Through her watery sight, silver winked with the firelight as the queen drew her dagger. The pointed tip raised to Jana’s face and her toes curled in her slippers. The slightest kiss of steel brushed her cheek.
“Salt,” the queen whispered when two teardrops balanced on her blade. “For a bitter bond to save all we hold dear.”
The dagger tilted and Jana’s tears dripped to the potion. A roar burst into the room with the scent of fire. Smoke billowed to the ceilings, and the plain glass window thrust open. Harsh wind whistled with the coppery tang of coming snow. Blood-red silken sleeves pooled around the queen’s shoulders as she held her arms high. Her call rang with awesome power.
“
Ancient
magic
far
and
near
,
come
now
in
this
hour
of
fear
.
Power
to
save
a
royal
line
,
might
to
spare
sweet
blood
of
mine
.
Power
great
as
marbled
earth
,
bring
a
soul
of
brawn
and
worth
.
Hear
my
plea
,
let
love
provide
,
grant
to
her
a
fearsome
guide
.”
The wind grew to an eerie wail. Bits of snow blew through the window. A rumbling gathered strength, thunder far beneath the earth that shook the foundations. A surge of power rushed through the castle, exploding into the tower room in a plume of lilac mist.
The mist split into three separate clouds. Each hovered, waiting, watching with sightless eyes. Jana bit back the whimper and forced her mind wide. The purple vapors condensed, shrinking into themselves, holding still before her. Tiny tendrils licked out, touching her face, her hair, her shoulder. Inside her skull, a buzzing grew. The air changed from curiosity to resignation and, as one, they all pulled away.
They were leaving. They were going to refuse the call. No one was going to aid her. None found her worthy of staying.
The first mist funneled into the stone wall without hesitation. The second took a moment to wrap lovingly around the queen before it seeped into the floor. The third grew smaller, drifting toward the stone fireplace.
“Leave then, you coward,” Jana spat.
The final mist froze. A scent of outrage flooded the room. The purple cloud grew until it towered over her, looming large and dense, menacing in its size.
“You’re nothing but a puff of smoke. A torch would give the same help. At least it’d help me see in the dark. You’re useless.”
The hulking cloud solidified. A man formed in the wispy swirls. He stood well over six feet and had long, dark-oak hair that fell to the middle of his back. A wide brow topped a proud nose and firm chin. Eyes richer than deepest earth locked with hers. Jade silk pants that hugged powerful legs were tucked into leather boots. His matching thigh-length vest hung open, baring his broad chest and thick arms. A gold band wrapped around one upper arm. Strange gloves with steel tips that protruded like claws hung from a leather belt around his trim waist.
He could have been carved from the very rock of the mountains. Soldiers, dignitaries and noblemen had surrounded Jana all her life. Not a single male possessed the same commanding presence as the spell standing before her.
“I am not useless and you will hold your tongue, my charge,” he snarled. A wave of power poured off him, rolling over Jana like water at high tide. The strength in his magic blanked her mind.
Then she realized what he’d said. His charge. She was his charge. He was staying to help her. “Who are you?”
“I am Darach. I am no coward.” An arrogant sneer angled one lip high as he raked her with a scathing look. “Your magic is weak and your form even weaker. Does this world not have any mightier warriors than you?”
That smirk grated Jana, shot into her spine and stiffened her back. “Many, but this is
my
quest and you’re here to help
me
so get used to this weak form.”
“If I must.” A sarcastic nod of his head substituted for gallantry. “I await your call, my charge. Do not fritter away my limited time in this realm.”
He imploded, sucking into a tight plume of lilac smoke. The smoke barreled toward her chest, spearing her necklace. A hush breathed into the room as warmth emanated between her breasts. She touched the tiny gemstone that now held a living spell.
The queen collapsed.
Frantic footsteps echoed outside the door. The knob jiggled and the door shook as a man called out. Jana was frozen as the magic in her necklace found her heartbeat and matched it. Silence fell. A muttered spell leaked through the wood. Splinters and shards blasted into the room, and the charred scent of sulfur wrinkled her nose. Prince Warric bolted through the demolished doorway, wisps of smoke encircling him. His chest heaved, a red flush along his cheeks and terse lines outlining his dark goatee.
“Jana? What in the hell are you doi—” He saw the queen’s crumpled body and his anger fizzled. “Oh shit. Mama!”
He rushed to her side, carefully sliding his arm beneath her. “What made the walls quake?” His gaze jerked to the tabletop and the remnants of ingredients scattered about. “Sand and pepper? Iron shavings? Is that bone? What was she doing?”
“Only what needed to be done.” The queen’s dark hair, so richly matching her son’s, streamed over his arm. Her eyes fluttered open. “Just give me a moment. I’m simply overtaxed. It takes great strength to call a spirit.”
“What?” Warric’s mouth fell open and he gaped at Jana. “She summoned a spell for you? Why?”
She regained control of her muscles. A thrumming force pulsed from the amulet and she focused on the beat, so like a living heart outside her chest. “For Batu.”
His jaw clenched. “Damn it, Jana. Do you know how much strength it takes to do that? She shouldn’t be trying it at her age.”
“Warric.” The queen’s voice snapped. “I’m not yet in the grave.”
“I didn’t mean it like that, Mama.” He dropped his eyes. “You called a guardian?”