“Foreplay.” She grins again, her sharp teeth honed to a razor’s edge.
“Stop this!” My yell sends a plume of dust floating down from the white stone walls, and the already damaged crystal spire high overhead cracks anew. “We are wasting time. Emma needs menow. You will all fall in line to get her back or I have no need of you. Emma is the queen of this realm, and we will not forsake her!” I bellow and swing my legs over the side of the bed. At least my warriors have the good sense not to try and talk me out of it. I turn back to the witch that’s soaked in evil and magic. “You know why you are here, obsidian. I need your help. We have a witch in dire need of one such as you. Grimelda—”
The obsidian spits. “She is no witch. Half witch, maybe. Her mother’s blood is strong, but they are not obsidian. They break. I am obsidian. Ido notbreak.”
“Grimelda lives, but barely.” Caltinius’s voice is reedy and tired.
I didn’t realize the changeling was still here. “No change in her condition?”
“None.” Caltinius sounds completely drained, and his mate Tritus—my realm’s librarian—sits beside him on the stone floor.
“I’ve looked in as many tomes as I could get my hands on, in the Old Language and the new. I can’t find a remedy for her. There’s no way to bring her back via alchemy alone, though perhaps magic can find a way.” Tritus shoots a look at the obsidian.
The witch wrinkles her nose. “Not worth saving, that Grimelda. She is weak. Empty. A vessel that has been sucked dry. By a useless male, at that.” She taps a claw on her chin. “Wonder how she tasted? Bitter, most likely.”
“Grimelda was drained by Eraldon, heir to the night realm. I need you to revive her. She’s the only one capable of warding me into the Nightlands, preventing King Sigrid of knowing about my incursion. I want to avoid war at all costs.” I raise a brow in question. “Unless you can do it?”
She makes apfftsound. “I don’t ward. Protection isn’t in my nature. I kill. I destroy. I twist and maim. If you need those things, I’m more than happy to assist you, foolish king.”
“No. Imustcross the border and rescue Emma, and you’re the only witch powerful enough to help Grimelda. Revive her so she can ward me. I will pay you whatever you desire if you will do this simple kindness.”
Brock crosses his arms. “My Lord, you can’t leave the realm when—”
“No,” the witch stands. “I will do no such thing.”
A screech in the hallway has my warriors standing at the ready.
“My lord, please, please!” A keening cry sounds around us.
Brock cracks the door and barks. “Get her out of here.”
“Please, my sister. Please!”
The witch’s head turns completely around, like a lizard. “And who is this?”
Why does she sound interested?
I can’t let any opportunity slip away. “Brock, let Lunarie in.”
“My lord, you aren’t—”
“Let her in,” I say, more strongly this time.
He gives me a terse nod and opens the door.
Lunarie hurries in, her face ashen and her eyes round. “My lord, I come for my sister. Gwenarie was so, so wrong in what she did, and I know she needs to be punished. I know that. But if you could please show some mercy. She’s—”
“Well met, little one.” The witch turns her body to match her head and practically prances to Lunarie.
Lunarie looks at her, then back at me, then at the witch. “My lord?”
“What’s your name?” She reaches out and takes Lunarie’s hands.
The high fae noble seems too frightened to protest.
“Lunarie.”
The witch leans close to her and whispers in her ear. Lunarie blanches even more.
