Broken Dove
Page 164
Oh God.
And worse.
“Yours just goes,” Baldur went on, his gaze moving to Circe. “As do the other two you pushed out for that savage. For me to have the Southlands, the Golden Dynasty must fall.”
I reached out, grabbed Circe’s hand and her fingers tightened around mine the instant mine found hers.
“It’s gonna be f**kin’ cool, havin’ the wolves,” Pol said, and I looked to him to see he had moved to Cora, the Bitchy and claimed her again. “My woman, she just wants a place called Bellebryn. Likes the castle there. So that’ll be hers.”
I clenched my teeth so I wouldn’t bite my lip and held his eyes, knowing he was not done.
And he wasn’t.
“’Course, this means that not only does the blonde bitch’s kids have to bite it, all of them do.”
Shit, shit, shit.
“Viktor is the next Frey and Drakkar,” Cora, the Terrible put in. “With him gone, and with the help of Minerva, the girl child you carry will make history being the first female to command the elves and dragons. We have you to thank for that, not being of this world, sharing the strength of your love for your husband with your female child. It makes not only the one you carry but the ones all of you carry immensely powerful.”
There it was. Our coinciding pregnancies weren’t a coincidence.
They knew this was going to happen and they planned to take away our babies.
“That’s why your girl will command the wolves,” Pol added my way. “Obviously, after we get rid of the boy.”
My insides squeezed.
Chris.
“And your girl will take over the Northlands,” Cora, the Bad told Cora, the Good. “We’ll rule for her at first, of course. But Minerva has grand plans for her.” She leaned in and smiled with saccharine sweetness. “Grand plans. She chose well with you and Prince Noctorno. She’ll mold a powerful witch from the child you make.” She leaned back and her eyes scanned us all. “She’ll mold powerful witches from all the girls you make.”
“So you brought us here so you could steal our daughters?” Circe asked.
“She’s a quick one,” Pol murmured on a grin down at Cora, the Awful.
“It was Helda’s idea,” Baldur shared and we all looked to him. “Knowing it takes great magic to build love between the worlds. Magic greater than the dragons. Greater than the elves. Greater than anything. Magic the kind neither world has ever known. Minerva splitting the souls of Prince Noctorno and his bride gave her the idea. Then the stories came from the ice lands, the savage lands. Love forming legend. She knew if she could harness that magic, well…” He tipped his head to the side. “She also knew she couldn’t do it alone. She approached Minerva, they recruited Edith and, of course, they had to have those of us who wished to take care of the day-to-day tasks of ruling nations once they dispatched the mightiest of warriors, claimed their powerful daughters, and conquered the land.” He walked forward, came through the bars, and tipped his head Cora and Pol’s way. “That’s what we get.”
“So, essentially, to be a ruler the only quality you have to have is being foul?” Cora, the Bomb asked.
Baldur took no offense. I knew this when he smiled an oily smile.
“I see that you realize no harm will come to you for some months,” he replied. “Still, bravado from a delectable morsel such as yourself is most enjoyable.”
“Why do your witches not show themselves?” Circe asked.
“More bravado,” Baldur murmured, his eyes moving over Circe in a way that made all of us get closer to her. “Don’t think your magic will serve you here, my child. All magic save that of our mistresses is constricted. It won’t work. Your green witch, when she arrives, will be rendered useless. Then she will be dispatched.” His face lit with malicious glee when he finished, “You’ve woefully underestimated their power. Thinking something so immense could weaken under dragon fire. Understandable, most definitely, a dragon’s blaze is immense and, of course, no one is more powerful than an elf.” He leaned in, smiling big. “Except them.”
This was not good.
It got worse when suddenly, four things penetrated the ceiling.
One was a shoot of black smoke.
It headed to the dais, formed a throne of what looked like a spray of black steel rods and sitting in it was a woman wearing a black dress cut in the fashion of the Vale. She had black hair and black eyes, alabaster skin and, surprisingly, a very pretty face.
And behind the throne, at the side, Derrik formed.
Derrik.
My heart stopped.
He glared at me.
What the f**k?
I thought he was off on some self-appointed mission for our side.
What was he doing here?
With them?
I wanted to think on it.
I couldn’t think on it.
I had to look to the other side where there was a blaze of red falling.
It also headed to the dais, opposite the black and gray thrones.
It formed another throne that radiated red fire and in it sat a somewhat hefty woman wearing a dress of yellow, orange and red panels that looked like something a she-clown would wear (except way more scary than your average clown, of course).
She had a mass of ratted out, flame-red hair and she was, not unsurprisingly, not attractive at all.
Another was a flash of blue sparks.
It aimed and obliterated the gray throne in a flare of blue glimmers. In its place, it formed a see-through throne of what appeared to be crystals. In it hovered—not sat—a woman wearing a floating wispy blue dress, her white hair highlighted with electric blue streaks. And last, the pale skin of her face stretched over features that could not be described as anything other than birdlike.
Well there you go.
Her affinity to birds explained.
And last, a green spray that looked liquid rained from the ceiling. It fell straight to the foot of the dais and when it landed, the prone body of Lavinia, the good witch of Lunwyn thumped lifeless on the stone.
Shit, shit.
Fuck.
“No,” Finnie breathed, her voice choked with horror and sorrow.
“They are not here?”
The words sounded around us, not from a person, but the black witch (definitely Helda) and the red witch (by the process of elimination, Edith) looked to the blue witch (absolutely Minerva).
Thus, I guessed it was Minerva’s disembodied voice that sounded around us.
No one answered her and I figured she was talking at least about Valentine because she had to see we were there.
And worse.
“Yours just goes,” Baldur went on, his gaze moving to Circe. “As do the other two you pushed out for that savage. For me to have the Southlands, the Golden Dynasty must fall.”
I reached out, grabbed Circe’s hand and her fingers tightened around mine the instant mine found hers.
“It’s gonna be f**kin’ cool, havin’ the wolves,” Pol said, and I looked to him to see he had moved to Cora, the Bitchy and claimed her again. “My woman, she just wants a place called Bellebryn. Likes the castle there. So that’ll be hers.”
I clenched my teeth so I wouldn’t bite my lip and held his eyes, knowing he was not done.
And he wasn’t.
“’Course, this means that not only does the blonde bitch’s kids have to bite it, all of them do.”
Shit, shit, shit.
“Viktor is the next Frey and Drakkar,” Cora, the Terrible put in. “With him gone, and with the help of Minerva, the girl child you carry will make history being the first female to command the elves and dragons. We have you to thank for that, not being of this world, sharing the strength of your love for your husband with your female child. It makes not only the one you carry but the ones all of you carry immensely powerful.”
There it was. Our coinciding pregnancies weren’t a coincidence.
They knew this was going to happen and they planned to take away our babies.
“That’s why your girl will command the wolves,” Pol added my way. “Obviously, after we get rid of the boy.”
My insides squeezed.
Chris.
“And your girl will take over the Northlands,” Cora, the Bad told Cora, the Good. “We’ll rule for her at first, of course. But Minerva has grand plans for her.” She leaned in and smiled with saccharine sweetness. “Grand plans. She chose well with you and Prince Noctorno. She’ll mold a powerful witch from the child you make.” She leaned back and her eyes scanned us all. “She’ll mold powerful witches from all the girls you make.”
“So you brought us here so you could steal our daughters?” Circe asked.
“She’s a quick one,” Pol murmured on a grin down at Cora, the Awful.
“It was Helda’s idea,” Baldur shared and we all looked to him. “Knowing it takes great magic to build love between the worlds. Magic greater than the dragons. Greater than the elves. Greater than anything. Magic the kind neither world has ever known. Minerva splitting the souls of Prince Noctorno and his bride gave her the idea. Then the stories came from the ice lands, the savage lands. Love forming legend. She knew if she could harness that magic, well…” He tipped his head to the side. “She also knew she couldn’t do it alone. She approached Minerva, they recruited Edith and, of course, they had to have those of us who wished to take care of the day-to-day tasks of ruling nations once they dispatched the mightiest of warriors, claimed their powerful daughters, and conquered the land.” He walked forward, came through the bars, and tipped his head Cora and Pol’s way. “That’s what we get.”
“So, essentially, to be a ruler the only quality you have to have is being foul?” Cora, the Bomb asked.
Baldur took no offense. I knew this when he smiled an oily smile.
“I see that you realize no harm will come to you for some months,” he replied. “Still, bravado from a delectable morsel such as yourself is most enjoyable.”
“Why do your witches not show themselves?” Circe asked.
“More bravado,” Baldur murmured, his eyes moving over Circe in a way that made all of us get closer to her. “Don’t think your magic will serve you here, my child. All magic save that of our mistresses is constricted. It won’t work. Your green witch, when she arrives, will be rendered useless. Then she will be dispatched.” His face lit with malicious glee when he finished, “You’ve woefully underestimated their power. Thinking something so immense could weaken under dragon fire. Understandable, most definitely, a dragon’s blaze is immense and, of course, no one is more powerful than an elf.” He leaned in, smiling big. “Except them.”
This was not good.
It got worse when suddenly, four things penetrated the ceiling.
One was a shoot of black smoke.
It headed to the dais, formed a throne of what looked like a spray of black steel rods and sitting in it was a woman wearing a black dress cut in the fashion of the Vale. She had black hair and black eyes, alabaster skin and, surprisingly, a very pretty face.
And behind the throne, at the side, Derrik formed.
Derrik.
My heart stopped.
He glared at me.
What the f**k?
I thought he was off on some self-appointed mission for our side.
What was he doing here?
With them?
I wanted to think on it.
I couldn’t think on it.
I had to look to the other side where there was a blaze of red falling.
It also headed to the dais, opposite the black and gray thrones.
It formed another throne that radiated red fire and in it sat a somewhat hefty woman wearing a dress of yellow, orange and red panels that looked like something a she-clown would wear (except way more scary than your average clown, of course).
She had a mass of ratted out, flame-red hair and she was, not unsurprisingly, not attractive at all.
Another was a flash of blue sparks.
It aimed and obliterated the gray throne in a flare of blue glimmers. In its place, it formed a see-through throne of what appeared to be crystals. In it hovered—not sat—a woman wearing a floating wispy blue dress, her white hair highlighted with electric blue streaks. And last, the pale skin of her face stretched over features that could not be described as anything other than birdlike.
Well there you go.
Her affinity to birds explained.
And last, a green spray that looked liquid rained from the ceiling. It fell straight to the foot of the dais and when it landed, the prone body of Lavinia, the good witch of Lunwyn thumped lifeless on the stone.
Shit, shit.
Fuck.
“No,” Finnie breathed, her voice choked with horror and sorrow.
“They are not here?”
The words sounded around us, not from a person, but the black witch (definitely Helda) and the red witch (by the process of elimination, Edith) looked to the blue witch (absolutely Minerva).
Thus, I guessed it was Minerva’s disembodied voice that sounded around us.
No one answered her and I figured she was talking at least about Valentine because she had to see we were there.
