Chapter Twenty

Back on the circus grounds once more, Harrow threw open the door to her caravan—a home she thought she’d said goodbye to forever. Less than a week later, she was back. How had things gone so impossibly wrong?

Because you threw it all away, a hateful inner voice whispered. Because you couldn’t believe in the happiness you’d been given and had to destroy it as quickly as possible.

“Shut up,” Harrow hissed. “I will make this right.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Malaikah said warily, closing the door behind her.

“Not you. Me.”

“Right.” Poor Malaikah looked slightly afraid of her, but Harrow didn’t have time to care. “What’s your plan, Seer?”

“I’m going to use my power for its actual purpose for once and figure out where Raith is and how best to get to him.”

“Well, he’s probably at Castle Fera, no?”

“Yes, I know,” Harrow snapped, inwardly wincing at her rudeness. “But it will take ages to get there. We need to make sure there isn’t a better plan.”

“Well, look at you.” Malaikah perched on the edge of the bed, tail flicking behind her. “I thought you’d lost your marbles back there, but that actually makes sense.”

Harrow sat at her tiny writing desk, placing her cards in a neat pile and setting the heavy bag down at her feet. “Nashira may be eccentric, but I think there’s truth to what she was saying. And she kept telling me it was too late to go after Raith and that I had to wait for him to come to me.”

“So you’re actually going to just sit here and wait? That did not seem like what you were planning when we stormed out of that tavern.”

“No, I’m not going to just sit here and wait. But I am going to try to understand what Nashira was saying and where Raith is likely to end up. If I can predict his movements, we can be sure to be there to intercept him.”

“What if Furie kills him as soon as he arrives?”

Harrow twisted in her chair to glare at Malaikah. “That’s not going to happen.”

“How do you know?”

“Because it’s not!”

“Okay, okay, you’re right. I’m sorry.”

Harrow sighed suddenly, leaning forward to bury her face in her hands. “No, I’m sorry. I’m being horrible to you, and all you’re doing is trying to help me.”

“No harm done. You lost the love of your life, and you need to get him back. It’s a lot of pressure for anyone. But hey.” Malaikah stood and leaned over the desk, pulling Harrow’s hands from her face and taking them into her own. Their eyes met. “If anyone can save him, it’s you. I know you can do this. Okay?”

Harrow swallowed hard. Nodded. “Okay. Thanks, Mal.”

“You got it. Now let’s get this reading started. What do you need me to do?”

She snapped into focus. Though she had kept up her daily scrying ritual her entire life, it had been many years since she’d been anything more than a fortune teller, and she had to dig deep into the well of memory to remember what to do.

Scrying for specific knowledge was different than just reaching out to the Water to strengthen the connection as she usually did, and it took a lot more focus. Releasing Mal’s hands, she gripped her mother’s necklace, silently begging Mellora to help her. Inside the locket, the shard of crystal seemed to throb with reassurance.

“I need my scrying bowl filled with fresh water,” Harrow announced with newfound confidence. “I need my bag of vision herbs, a charcoal tablet, and some matches.”

“Where is that stuff?”

“It’s here.” She lifted the heavy bag onto the desk and started pulling out the required supplies. “I can honestly say I didn’t expect to be doing this type of magic again.”

“Why not?” Malaikah gave her a pointed look. “It’s who you are.”

“It could also get me killed.”

“Not if you’ve got your wraith watching your back.” When Harrow’s eyes filled with tears yet again, Malaikah grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet. “So let’s get him back, yeah?”

A few minutes later, the supplies were gathered and positioned on the desk. The caravan was dark save for a few candles, and the heavy scent of smoking herbs filled the room with a haze. In a small silver dish, a charcoal tablet burned steadily, the vision herbs smoking atop it.

Malaikah sat cross-legged on the bed, tail curled around her. At the desk, Harrow wrapped her hands around the scrying bowl. In the still water, her reflection stared back at her. Her eyes were haunted, full of regret and pain.

She exhaled and took a deep breath of the smoking herbs, allowing their effects to take hold and draw her deeper into the trance. The Water stirred in the depths of her soul in a way she hadn’t felt since she was a child, since her beautiful mother had sat her down and shown her what it meant to be a Seer. Staring into the scrying bowl, she let her vision unfocus, her mind quiet, and her thoughts drift.

The Water rose within and took her down like a great tidal wave crashing overhead.

Instead of being transported into a vision as she expected, however, she found herself standing in Darya’s library. She looked around in confusion. How had she ended up here?

Darya emerged from a door in the wall and rushed toward Harrow, silky black curls streaming behind her. “There you are. I thought you’d never come.” Her arms were out like she meant to embrace her—

Harrow stepped back. “Why am I here?”

“Because I brought you here.” She was still reaching out. “I just needed you to stretch your magic a little to complete the connection, and you did. I’m so happy you came to me—”

“I didn’t come to you,” Harrow said coldly. “I was trying to find Raith.”

Her arms dropped to her sides. “What?”

“I was trying to find Raith.” Harrow’s voice went flat. “After I betrayed him, he escaped. I realized my horrible, unforgivable mistake, and I’m trying to get him back.”

When Harrow expected Darya’s argument, she was surprised to see her sigh tiredly instead. “Nashira just paid me a visit.”

“She did?”

“Yes, she did. She explained everything. Specifically, about your wraith and who he is to you.”

Harrow narrowed her eyes.

Darya turned to stare out the window into the darkness. “You need to understand. I was once rich beyond measure in the blessings of those I considered my own. Now I am alone. I’ve outlived every one of my children—a mother’s worst nightmare. All except you. The idea of something happening to you haunts me.”

“So you wanted to kill the man I love,” Harrow said dully.

“No, I— Yes, I did. But only because I didn’t understand.” Her silver eyes were beseeching. “Harrow, I swear to you, I didn’t know. How was I to know his true nature and what he had become? I was so consumed by my grief and fear for your future, I didn’t consider that this could be something greater than a simple vendetta between sisters. And, though I wish I’d broken the news to you differently, you needed to know the truth. Even if you chose to love him still, you needed to understand the connection between you and why it is there. I’m sorry if it seems like I intentionally manipulated you.”

“A simple vendetta between sisters?” Harrow couldn’t believe her ears. “Do you know what this simple vendetta has cost? The Territories have been at war for centuries, and my people are dead! If you really saw yourself as our mother, you would have found a way to stop this long ago, before I became the only survivor. My family and my real mother are gone because of you. Because of what you did. You started this.”

Darya had the grace to look ashamed.

“And it didn’t seem like you manipulated me,” Harrow continued, her anger pouring out freely now, “you did manipulate me. You knew exactly what to say to make me doubt myself, and you used me as a tool to achieve your own selfish aims. Which is all you’ve ever done, I see now.”

Darya’s mouth opened as if to retort, and Harrow readied herself for an argument. She almost wanted it to happen; she needed to vent some of the helpless rage that filled her whenever she thought of her clan’s deaths and the pointless, never-ending war—and now, Raith’s tragic history.

But the Water Queen closed her mouth again and then took a deep breath for composure. “You are right, Harrow,” she finally said. “I have been selfish, and I did use you, which I regret immensely. My feud with Furie has hurt those I loved and those I was supposed to protect more than anyone else. It is time to make things right, beginning with an apology.” Darya looked her in the eye. “I am sorry I manipulated you.”

“And I’m sorry I was weak-willed enough to believe you,” Harrow said quietly. “I’m sorry I didn’t trust in myself and my connection to the Water enough to realize I’d been manipulated. I’m sorry I didn’t choose to trust the man who’d done nothing but protect me over the word of someone who would torture an innocent being for fifty years. I’ll have to live with that shame for the rest of my life, but let it never be said that I don’t learn from my mistakes.”

Darya smiled ingratiatingly, the relief plain on her face. “Of course you do, child, and I’m so proud of who you’ve become. If your mother was alive, she would be too. And I encourage you to deepen that connection with the Water. I should’ve been there to teach you, but I thought you were better off without me in your life. I realize now that was a mistake. I should have been there to guide you. Maybe if I’d gotten to know you better, I would’ve been able to see past my grief and spare you this pain. It’s too late to change the past now, but I can still try to influence the future.”

“If you want to influence my future, let me go back to scrying for Raith,” Harrow said impatiently. “I think he’s gone to Furie’s castle to try to kill her, and I need to figure out what’s going to happen so I can stop him. Every second I spend here is a second wasted.”

Darya blanched. “He’s going to try to kill her?”

“That’s what Malaikah thinks, and I believe she’s right.”

“But he won’t be able to.”

“How do you know? Raith is strong. If anyone can do it, it’s him.”

But Darya shook her head. “Furie is the most paranoid woman this world has ever known. She lives in constant expectancy of attack, though not a soul has dared set foot in her castle in centuries. She uses her wraiths as servants, since her human staff long ago fled her domain, and she’s constantly surrounded by powerful magic. Even alone in her chambers, she keeps a shield of Fire around her, so thick it would burn alive any who touched her. Besides, our powers are very great. The chances of an Elemental being able to hurt us are low.”

But the opposite certainly isn’t true, Harrow thought bitterly.

She stared at Darya, dread consuming her. “So what do I do? How can I stop him from going after her?”

“Nashira won’t take you there?”

“No.” Harrow gripped her hair in frustration. “I begged her over and over, and she refused. I don’t understand why, since she was the one who explained everything to me in the first place.”

Darya didn’t look surprised, however. “Nashira sees things differently than you or I. What seems logical now may not be so in the future, and her magic goes against the natural order in many ways. Her direct intervention often has adverse effects. Perhaps she’s seen things play out a certain way and knows that without her interference, it will turn out for the better.”

A tiny ray of hope sparked within. “So that means Raith won’t be killed, then, right?”

“Unfortunately, we can’t make that assumption.” To her credit, Darya looked innocently sympathetic. Harrow wasn’t that trusting anymore, though. She needed Darya’s help now, but she wasn’t naive enough to believe the Water Queen wouldn’t turn around and try to kill Raith as soon as she got her hands on him again.

But right now, Harrow didn’t care about Nashira’s choices or Darya’s supposed turnaround. She just cared about Raith. “So what do I do? I have to go after him.”

“Return to your scrying. I’ll join you as well, and we can merge our magics for a clearer result. Your line of thinking was good—perhaps in the present we can’t be of much use, but we can influence the future by gaining knowledge of it now.”

She wanted to scream in frustration. “But there is no future for Raith if Furie kills him.”

“The drop of a stone in the ocean can create a ripple that washes the shores of another land. You can’t know that we can’t influence the future from here if we don’t try.”

…

Raith flew to the top of the tallest tower and landed noiselessly on the windowsill. Peering through the glass to the room within, he was afforded a perfect view of his target. It was all so simple.

There was Furie, kneeling before a roaring fire in the hearth. The rest of the room was dark, but the fire was so great, flames licked up the outside of the stone chimney and around the sides.

Red hair tumbling down her back, a blood-red gown pooling at her feet, Furie stared into the flames, muttering to herself.

With careful claws, Raith eased the glass open and climbed quietly inside the room, freezing in place, certain she would sense him. Black spots peppered his sight—the wound in his side continued to bleed steadily, and the blood loss was taking its toll.

Barely daring to breathe, he raised his blade and approached. He was a physical entity now, but he embodied the wraith he’d been in every other way. His every footstep was silence itself, his skin the shade of the blackest shadows, the talons at the tips of his wings poised and ready to strike.

He crept across the room, choosing each step with precision so no floorboard creaked. Passing the sitting area, he stepped onto a large rug. There, he hesitated.

Two more steps and he would be within striking distance.

Raith was an assassin, not a storybook villain. He was not going to approach Furie, put his blade at her throat, and then stop to speak a lengthy discourse. When he took those final steps, he would swing the dagger instantly, giving her no chance to engage her defenses.

So why was he hesitating now?

Curiosity ate at him. Furie’s nonsensical whispering was audible from where he stood, and he tried to make sense of it.

“My love…” Her voice shook as she rocked gently back and forth. “You’re so beautiful, so strong and fierce. My everything.”

Peering around her shoulder at the fire, Raith saw the object of her attention.

Images flashed in the flames, created by Fire magic. Images of a man. A warrior, with leather armor and a heavy broadsword, swinging it mercilessly in the throes of battle, roaring cries of victory. His skin was desert bronze. A thick black braid fell down his broad back. A jagged scar cut across his face, over one dark eye and down to his lip. He wore no helmet, and his arms were bare, powerful ridges of muscle rippling with strength as he wielded the sword like an extension of his arm.

The scene changed.

The same man was standing in a tent, unbuckling his armor, staring into the eyes of the viewer. He tossed the breastplate aside and tackled the viewer onto the bed with laughter in his eyes…

The image changed again.

He was in a bed. The viewer’s arms were out, tracing the defined ridges of his pectoral muscles while he looked on with a ravenous gaze. Feminine hands smoothed over his strong body with obvious adoration. They were Furie’s hands, Raith realized, recognizing the rings upon her fingers, and suddenly, it became clear.

These were Furie’s memories of her human lover, Ferron the Conqueror, the great warrior—the one Darya had killed long ago. The one whose death Furie had created the wraiths to avenge.

The reason the Seer line had been obliterated.

“You’re so beautiful, my love,” Furie cooed at the fire. In the memory, she was kissing her lover’s chest, working her way slowly down his body.

It was…pathetic.

The entire scene was so pathetic, Raith nearly turned and fled out the window the way he’d come. The powerful, immortal Queen sat alone and unloved in her tower, reliving ancient memories of her lost mate.

Worse, Raith knew exactly how she felt. It was how he felt.

If he had the power to conjure images of Harrow in the flames, he might have flown to a high tower somewhere and done exactly that. And he doubted his ability to ever recover from losing her, either. If Harrow was killed, the vengeance he would unleash upon the world would make Furie’s brutality look tame.

He…understood her. He related to her. He even sympathized with her.

But he was still going to kill her.

She’d wrought far too much damage for him not to take this chance. Maybe her death would take her to wherever her lover was now, maybe not. It didn’t matter, in the end, because he wasn’t going to pass up this opportunity. Furie, alone, undefended, oblivious to her surroundings—there might never be a chance like this again.

He would do it for Harrow.

Fingers tightening around the dagger’s hilt, he lifted it high and took one step forward. Furie rocked back and forth, mumbling at the flames. He took another step. Still, she rocked.

He swung the blade.

His aim was true, his strength immense. The blade whistled through the air to connect directly with the soft skin of her neck. It was a clean, powerful strike. It would have beheaded any other foe in an instant.

Instead, the steel melted.

The instant it touched her skin, the metal turned red-hot, softened, and then melted into a molten goo. He dropped it instinctively when the hilt started to melt his hands with it.

Furie didn’t move immediately. For a second longer, she stared into the fire as if loath to leave the memories within. But the images faded as she withdrew her magic and seemed to shake herself back to the present. Drawing her skirts about her feet, she rose gracefully and turned around. For the first time in half a century, their eyes met.

She was, like all the Queens, impossibly beautiful. Her skin was a perfect alabaster, as flawless as porcelain. Her hair was deepest red, falling in glossy curls over full breasts. Her eyes were the blue of the center of a flame, her lips luscious red.

All that beauty disguised a volatile beast.

Raith could do nothing but stand there, awaiting his fate. He knew well what her magic could do and didn’t delude himself into thinking he could escape her now. No, he’d had his chance already.

The assassin had taken his strike and failed. Now, he faced retribution.

Furie’s blue eyes widened with recognition. “You.”

Raith just stared at her. He wasn’t fool enough not to be afraid. His heart thundered in his chest, and he flexed his claws to keep his hands from shaking.

He was afraid, but he wasn’t a coward. He stared his death in the face, looking right into her eyes. Whatever happened, he would keep his eyes forward and his chin lifted. He would meet his death knowing it was the only noble path for a creature like him.

“You came back to kill me,” Furie said.

Raith nodded. He would never speak in her presence unless she forced the words from his throat. And she couldn’t now, he realized. The Water magic that helped create his physical form negated her absolute control.

“When I heard what Darya had managed to do, I could scarcely believe it. Yet here you stand. A brand-new Elemental. A perfect fusion of Fire and Water.”

She stared at him like she was looking at a finely crafted object she desired to possess, the glint of covetousness in her eyes.

“You’re so beautiful,” she whispered.

Hearing those words on her lips moments after she’d said them to the dead man in the flames sickened him, but he allowed no outward reaction.

Then she sighed. “What a shame I have to destroy you.”