“How do I banish the succubus for good?” One question for Annwyn.
Her voice was otherworldly now—a strange, forced quality to the tones. I recognized the power of compulsion from interrogating Percival and Diana. “Fulfill the prophecy. All of it.”
Outside of the cave, the wind was picking up, beginning to howl. A winter storm, descending upon the Spine. An hour, maybe half, and the snow would begin to accumulate, sealing the witch in. And me, with her.
No, my bright core reminded me. I had the power to leave, at any time.
“You are not nearly as poetic as your sister was,” I observed, even as I repeated the witch’s words to myself. I’d write them down as soon as I returned to Eilean Gayl. The wording might be important.
She hissed through her teeth. Pointed teeth—ones she had not revealed until just then. Just like Arran’s canines, but every single tooth. Made for shredding flesh.
Oh, yes. She planned on killing me. Whatever had motivated her more mild approach, it was quickly losing to her baser nature. I could not tarry.
“What must be done to restore Arran’s memories?” One question for my mate.
This time, she wanted to answer. There was no sense of her fighting the compulsion in her blood. She even laughed, a wicked, horrible sound that I did not allow to send a shiver down my spine.
“You begged for his life. Powerful magic was required to save him from a wound like that—a soul wound. This is the price, foolish queen. You could never have become what you needed to be with him at your side.”
Not an answer.
I pressed my blades hard into her neck, the desire to keep her alive for future generations suddenly forgotten—
“I cannot see if or when his memories will be returned.”
I fought hard to keep my hands from trembling. To keep them still and hard against that knob at the top of her spine.
One more, and then I would be gone. I could go back to Eilean Gayl. To warmth.
Twenty-five years of elemental influence kept my voice steady. “What is the cost of my power?” One question for me.
I thought it had been the loss of his memories. I’d fooled myself into thinking that maybe his loss of memories was notbecause of what I’d done at Avalon, but because of my void power. That, at least, had been beyond my control.
But I received no such respite.
Which meant the cost of my power… my ever-growing power, the lack of fatigue even as it grew… the cost was still hanging over my head.
The witch must have sensed the thoughts in my mind. The witch in the Tower of Myda had been able to, had mocked me for the unruly tangle of emotions.
“The cost has already been paid,” she crooned. A heartbeat later—“Arthur.”
I did not hear the howling of the wind. Nor the clicking of the witch’s nails. Not even the beating of my own heart.
I should have known.
A duality in the world that was never meant to exist. It was only a matter of time.
The witch in the Tower of Myda had told me as much. But that was before the Joining, before my power awoke, before the succubus…oh, Arthur.
I stepped backward, letting my blades go slack.
The witch fell right into the trap.
She whipped her nails around, wicked fast and hard. They thrashed into my body, the curled ends going around my legs, holding me in place.
Clever trick.
I even gave the witch a heartbeat to savor her victory before I flashed a wicked grin that would have made my mate proud.
