“Well? Out with it!”
“Niall has wed Queen Penelope of Darnuith. Their kingdoms are aligned.”
This time, she popped out of her throne and paced, her rage causing her skin to bubble from within, her need to shift raising the temperature in the room. With a slap to her own cheek that made Ransom jolt, she tamed her inner dragon. This was not the time to lose control. This was the time for cunning, and that was something Eleanor always had in spades.
“This is a complication,” she said softly. “But it will be nothing once we have the book. All I need is for the three sisters to find it and remove it from the wards that now protect it from me. Then I will take it.”
To his credit, Ransom didn’t say a word.
She wrung her hands, remembering all she’d seen through Grigori’s eyes. “Does the name Crimson Vanderholt mean anything to you?”
He shook his head. “Only the witches of Darnuith have such names.”
“Or those from Earth.” She drummed her fingers on her bicep. “I’ve recently learned that one by that name is the reason Gabriel and Raven’s child exists. She must have been a witch of great power to perform such a feat.”
“Would you like me to try to find her? If she’s in Darnuith—”
“Oh, I am quite sure she is dead.” Eleanor frowned. “But death is not the end, and to one such as I, one who is destined to be a goddess, death is no barrier to knowledge.”
“What do you plan to do?” Ransom shivered.
She rolled her eyes. The man was truly a coward. “All you need to worry about is locking down all trade routes between the kingdoms. Let nothing through. I’ll take care of the rest.”
“Yes, Empress.” He bowed low and started for the door.
“Bring me a child.”
Ransom stopped, waiting for a beat before turning to face her. “A child? I wouldn’t know where to find one.”
“Figure it out. I need a child’s blood. Find one. Look among the peasants or in the pits. Do it, Ransom, or I will use your blood in its place, and believe me, the spell will require much more of it to compensate for your age.”
“Yes, Empress.” He all but ran from the room.
Eleanor strode to the library and passed behind the tapestry into her ritual room. She’d never raised the dead before, but it was possible—she could see the spell in her head. It was dark magic, blood magic. Nothing she wasn’t familiar with, in theory.
She flipped through her grimoire but didn’t find exactly what she was looking for. This would take creative magic. She was up to the task. Grabbing a piece of chalk, she carefully constructed a pentagram on the floor, correcting any imperfections until the shape was as perfect as she could make it. Now for a power source. Her gaze landed on her collection of hearts. Brynhoff’s had dimmed from her earlier spell. Too weak. She’d never waste Marius’s diamond on this. Her eyes fell on a navy-blue sapphire. Killian’s. She snatched it from the shelf, placing it at the apex of the pentagram.
On the top westward point, she positioned a bunch of dried wolfsbane, the queen of all poisons. Any sorceress that would manipulate another woman’s fertility would share a connection with the plant. Across from it, on the top, eastward point, she situated a black candle. With a snap of her fingers, the wick ignited. Below the candle, she offered a loaf of freshly baked bread she conjured from the kitchen. Surely any soul she called up from Hades would be hungry, and she wasn’t above bribing information from the witch. On the last point, she rested a silver chalice.
A sound came from the entrance. She drew a symbol in the air to open the ward, and Ransom entered with a young boy at his side. He couldn’t have been more than seven and was dressed in the black uniform used for training in the pits. He trembled under her gaze although his chin stayed high.
“You’re a brave little dragon,” she said.
“Yes, Empress.”
“Ransom, you may leave us.”
The man hesitated but turned on his heel and left when her eyes met his.
She held out her hand to the boy. “You have no reason to be afraid. From you, I’ll only need a few drops.”
“Drops of what?”
She reached out and grabbed the boy’s arm, dragging him toward the symbol on the floor. His face went ashen as she sprouted her talons. “Push up your sleeve, brave boy.”
He did as she requested, although he could not hide the terror that painted across his young face. She speared the boy’s skin and allowed his blood to drizzle into the chalice. She had to hand it to the child; he didn’t even scream, just wept silently.
“There.” She shoved him away, and the boy grabbed his arm, although it was already healing. “Speak nothing of this. Go find Captain Ransom and tell him that I have found you braver than him and I said you could take the entire day off training to feast on whatever you choose.”
