Rebel Spring
Page 56
Even before her family had left to mount the siege upon the Auranian palace, Althea worked swiftly and secretly to free this witch from her prison. She found a sickly, bone-thin woman who could barely speak. She had her hidden away at the castle, fed, bathed, and clothed, then offered her freedom—for a price.
She was to help the queen learn more about Lucia’s elementia.
The witch agreed, and Althea learned the true prophecy about Lucia that Gaius had never shared with her. She learned stories about the Watchers, about the Kindred, about Eva, the original sorceress. About Cleiona and Valoria, who envied their sister Eva’s power so much that their greed drove them to steal the Kindred for themselves—an act that resulted in their total corruption by a power so vast they had no chance to control it. In the end, neither won. They destroyed each other.
As a devout worshipper of the Goddess Valoria, Althea had been stunned and sickened by all of this. She wanted to deny the truth of it, but found the more she learned, the more she could not. The witch was an Oldling, one who kept these stories, passed down from generation to generation; one who worshipped the elements themselves as if they too were gods and goddesses.
If this witch was to regain her weakened power, blood magic was the only option, and she would need more than a sacrificed animal.
And the queen needed her magic.
No common mortal was good enough, the witch said. It had to be someone with strong blood, a pure heart, a bright future. Althea found a boy named Michol, one of Lucia’s suitors. He had come by the castle one day looking for the princess shortly before she departed with Gaius and Magnus for Auranos. He was so young, so alive. The queen enticed him into her chambers with the promise of a betrothal to her beautiful daughter.
There, the witch was waiting with her dagger. The boy’s blood ran red and true.
Instead of inciting pity, however, Michol’s dying screams only fueled the queen and gave her much-needed strength. The boy had to be sacrificed so Lucia could be saved from the darkness of her magic. And saved Lucia must be—even if it eventually meant the girl’s own death.
Any good mother would do the same.
Althea remembered that night only too clearly.
The magic had shimmered in the air, making the queen catch her breath as the fine hair on her arms stood up.
Michol dropped to the ground, dead, his cheeks wet with tears. The witch’s hands were coated in his blood and she pressed them to her face. Her eyes glowed so bright—like the sun itself.
“Is it working?” the queen asked, shielding her eyes. “Do you need another? I can find a servant.”
“I can see,” the witch said, a smile of joy stretching her lips wide. “I can see everything.”
“Then tell me what I need to know about my daughter.”
The room sparkled as if stars had fallen from the night sky to hang in midair around the witch and the fallen boy.
“She’s not your daughter,” the witch whispered. “No, not of birth.” “In my heart she is my daughter.”
“She is very dangerous. Many will die because of her magic.” The queen already knew that Gaius was set on Lucia being a part of his war—that this was his whole purpose for bringing her into the castle sixteen years ago. He wished to use her elementia for his own gain.
“Tell me more,” Althea urged.
“The sorceress will die,” the witch said. “After many others have fallen before her. But this is very important: her blood cannot be spilled in death— if it is, great pain will rise from the earth itself. Pain unlike anything this world can endure. Her bloodless death is the only way to stop this.”
A chill went down the queen’s spine. “When will she die?”
“I can only touch the future right now, not see it clearly. But she will die young.”
“She’ll be corrupted by her magic.” The words hurt the queen’s throat. “And there’s nothing that can be done to save her.” The truth was far harsher than she expected. But instead of fear, Althea’s heart ached for the girl she’d claimed as her daughter for sixteen years.
“The sorceress Eva was rumored to wear a ring that controlled the battle of power within her. Otherwise it’s like a tearing, dark against light, a balance that cannot be contained forever. One will always try to dominate. Darkness will always try to extinguish the light. The light will always try to repress the darkness. There is no true hope to control this without the balancing magic of the ring.”
Finally, a glimmer of optimism took seed in the queen’s heart that this did not have to end with more death. “Where can I find this ring?”
“It was lost at the same time as the Kindred.” The witch shook her head. “I don’t know where to find it, but I know it still exists.”
“How do you know?”
“I didn’t before, but . . . Her eyes glowed bright. “I know now. I can see it, but I know not where it is. Alas, there isn’t much time to find it before the girl will lose herself to her power.”
Althea wrung her hands. “If we can’t find the ring in time, how can Lucia control her magic?”
“She must be kept from using her elementia. The more she uses it, the more she will be consumed by it.”
“How can I stop her?”
The witch had suggested the sleeping potion, each batch of which required the blood magic gained from three sacrifices. It put a mortal into a deep sleep, the witch promised, one that couldn’t be explained. One that couldn’t be detected, not even by another witch.
She was to help the queen learn more about Lucia’s elementia.
The witch agreed, and Althea learned the true prophecy about Lucia that Gaius had never shared with her. She learned stories about the Watchers, about the Kindred, about Eva, the original sorceress. About Cleiona and Valoria, who envied their sister Eva’s power so much that their greed drove them to steal the Kindred for themselves—an act that resulted in their total corruption by a power so vast they had no chance to control it. In the end, neither won. They destroyed each other.
As a devout worshipper of the Goddess Valoria, Althea had been stunned and sickened by all of this. She wanted to deny the truth of it, but found the more she learned, the more she could not. The witch was an Oldling, one who kept these stories, passed down from generation to generation; one who worshipped the elements themselves as if they too were gods and goddesses.
If this witch was to regain her weakened power, blood magic was the only option, and she would need more than a sacrificed animal.
And the queen needed her magic.
No common mortal was good enough, the witch said. It had to be someone with strong blood, a pure heart, a bright future. Althea found a boy named Michol, one of Lucia’s suitors. He had come by the castle one day looking for the princess shortly before she departed with Gaius and Magnus for Auranos. He was so young, so alive. The queen enticed him into her chambers with the promise of a betrothal to her beautiful daughter.
There, the witch was waiting with her dagger. The boy’s blood ran red and true.
Instead of inciting pity, however, Michol’s dying screams only fueled the queen and gave her much-needed strength. The boy had to be sacrificed so Lucia could be saved from the darkness of her magic. And saved Lucia must be—even if it eventually meant the girl’s own death.
Any good mother would do the same.
Althea remembered that night only too clearly.
The magic had shimmered in the air, making the queen catch her breath as the fine hair on her arms stood up.
Michol dropped to the ground, dead, his cheeks wet with tears. The witch’s hands were coated in his blood and she pressed them to her face. Her eyes glowed so bright—like the sun itself.
“Is it working?” the queen asked, shielding her eyes. “Do you need another? I can find a servant.”
“I can see,” the witch said, a smile of joy stretching her lips wide. “I can see everything.”
“Then tell me what I need to know about my daughter.”
The room sparkled as if stars had fallen from the night sky to hang in midair around the witch and the fallen boy.
“She’s not your daughter,” the witch whispered. “No, not of birth.” “In my heart she is my daughter.”
“She is very dangerous. Many will die because of her magic.” The queen already knew that Gaius was set on Lucia being a part of his war—that this was his whole purpose for bringing her into the castle sixteen years ago. He wished to use her elementia for his own gain.
“Tell me more,” Althea urged.
“The sorceress will die,” the witch said. “After many others have fallen before her. But this is very important: her blood cannot be spilled in death— if it is, great pain will rise from the earth itself. Pain unlike anything this world can endure. Her bloodless death is the only way to stop this.”
A chill went down the queen’s spine. “When will she die?”
“I can only touch the future right now, not see it clearly. But she will die young.”
“She’ll be corrupted by her magic.” The words hurt the queen’s throat. “And there’s nothing that can be done to save her.” The truth was far harsher than she expected. But instead of fear, Althea’s heart ached for the girl she’d claimed as her daughter for sixteen years.
“The sorceress Eva was rumored to wear a ring that controlled the battle of power within her. Otherwise it’s like a tearing, dark against light, a balance that cannot be contained forever. One will always try to dominate. Darkness will always try to extinguish the light. The light will always try to repress the darkness. There is no true hope to control this without the balancing magic of the ring.”
Finally, a glimmer of optimism took seed in the queen’s heart that this did not have to end with more death. “Where can I find this ring?”
“It was lost at the same time as the Kindred.” The witch shook her head. “I don’t know where to find it, but I know it still exists.”
“How do you know?”
“I didn’t before, but . . . Her eyes glowed bright. “I know now. I can see it, but I know not where it is. Alas, there isn’t much time to find it before the girl will lose herself to her power.”
Althea wrung her hands. “If we can’t find the ring in time, how can Lucia control her magic?”
“She must be kept from using her elementia. The more she uses it, the more she will be consumed by it.”
“How can I stop her?”
The witch had suggested the sleeping potion, each batch of which required the blood magic gained from three sacrifices. It put a mortal into a deep sleep, the witch promised, one that couldn’t be explained. One that couldn’t be detected, not even by another witch.
