She fell.
Through the roaring in her ears, she was vaguely aware of Skatia beside her letting out a strangled gasp, of crimson silk collapsing in a blur of color. The street tilted, stone rushing up to meet her—
And then there was nothing. Nothing but black. Not the empty black of a room with no candle, but a living darkness that pressed close on all sides, thick as ink and twice as cold. It curled around her ankles and wrists in lazy, drifting tendrils, seeping into her bones, gnawing at the strength she hadn’t realized she still possessed.
The Underworld.
She swayed.
A soft groan sounded nearby. “Talia?” Skatia’s voice.
Her heart constricted. She was not alone here in the black.
Shapes began to materialize from the writhing murk. Crimson robes. Faces she knew. The Sisters with them in Mysai—Yara, Nadia, Shula. Others, too. Witches she’d only ever glimpsed in passing in the temple, like Princess Mariana.
And there, at the center of them all, stood a small, bent figure draped in black silk: The Mother. Even here, her golden eyes were sharp within her wizened face as she swept her gaze across the gathered Sisters. But for the first time in her life, Talia saw an emotion she had never before seen upon the High Priestess’s features—fear.
Her pulse quickened.
“Mother, what is this?” Skatia asked, stepping forward through the gloom. Her fingers twitched as if on the verge of reaching for her soulblade.
Before the Mother could answer, the darkness itself spoke.
I am growing tired of these delays.
The voice came from everywhere and nowhere, sliding over Talia’s skin like oil. The shadows thickened, pressing in until it felt as if she were slowly being suffocated—smothered by a giant, unseen hand.
Of these failures,the Lady hissed.
A knife of cold sliced into Talia’s chest. She gasped. Around her, Sisters staggered, hands flying to their hearts or heads as if struck.
My daughters in Elmoria: you have failed,the Lady continued, contempt dripping from every word.My daughters in Mysai: you have failed.
Talia’s stomach plummeted. She wanted to protest, to scream that she had only just arrived, that she was trying, but her tongue lay dead and heavy in her mouth.
Only Mariana succeeds in Drakmor,the voice purred, the tone shifting from scorn to a terrifying, possessive pride.Only she understands the cost of power.
The shadows surged, tightening the circle.
With every day that passes, you give my great enemy the openings He needs to fight against my influence. This cannot happen. Hecannotsucceed!
Pain exploded in Talia’s chest, as if an invisible fist had closed around her heart. Her back arched, her head flinging backward in a scream that never came. Her head swam. The world tilted again. Her legs buckled.
When her knees slammed against the unseen ground, she tasted metal.
She must have bitten her own tongue.
All around her, Sisters dropped like sheaves of wheat in a scythe’s path.
When my power grows, so does yours,the Lady crooned, and the pain eased just enough for Talia to drag in a shuddering breath once more.When mine wanes, yours will wane also. Our fates are tied, my daughters. And still, you fail me.
I am sorry,Talia whispered within her thoughts, her shoulders shaking with each fresh inhale she desperately drank in.Please, forgive me. Please, forgive me…
“Lady,” the Mother rasped, straightening with visible effort.
Every eye in the circle snapped to the High Priestess. The old woman was shaking, but still she raised her head to stare into the abyss.
“We hear you. We are trying to understand. These demands you place upon us now are…new. Never before have you called us like this. Never before have you sent us hunting—”
