Read on for an excerpt from the next book in the series, The Moon Witch.
Juliet squirmed in her bed, awake long past the hour when she normally fell asleep. The back of her neck prickled. She reached beneath her loose braid and rubbed vigorously, but still the sensation did not entirely subside. Something was wrong; she just couldn’t determine exactly what that something was.
For the past three days she’d been unusually restless, pacing when she should be sitting, and snapping at Isadora over the smallest disagreements. That just wasn’t like her. For the past three nights when she’d gone to bed, she’d tossed and turned for a long while, unable to get comfortable. When sleep did come, it was filled with vivid and odd dreams she could not decipher. In some of the dreams there was heat and blood. Her heart pounded hard and fast, and a sea of faces swarmed too closely around her. She could never tell when or where she was, and when she woke, she remembered none of the faces.
In addition to the dreams that made no sense, she’d been having an old nightmare for the past two weeks. It had been months since she’d had that dream from which she always woke in a cold sweat, the nightmare that had made her swear years ago that she would never lie with a man.
Her psychic ability was all but useless where her own life was concerned. Juliet could see the past and the future of a complete stranger, but she never knew what tomorrow would bring for her. She hadn’t even been able to find her favorite hair clip when it had come up missing. Still, she knew in her heart that the nightmare was more than a fear. It was a premonition. And for the past fourteen nights, she had suffered with that nightmare every night.
The dream always started pleasantly enough. The sensation of being taken into a man’s embrace was nice. That closeness warmed her to the depths of her soul and caused her insides to do strange things. At the pit of her being she burned and fluttered, and in the shelter of the surprisingly strong arms she realized that there was something wonderful waiting for her and the man who held her.
But that realization of something good to come soon changed, and pain came without warning. It came with agony and blood. The arms that had held her so tenderly changed; a man held her down so that she could not move, and claws tore her flesh. She always saw the claws and knew what was coming, but she couldn’t scream, not even as they ripped into her body.
Lying in bed, afraid of the nightmare that might or might not come again tonight, Juliet turned her thoughts to another subject of concern: her younger sister. Her ability to see what would come for her sisters was often no more clear than the window into her own life, but she knew in her heart that Sophie was safe. She didn’t know where Sophie and her daughter Ariana slept on this night, but she knew without doubt that no danger threatened them at the moment.
The premonition that Sophie would never see this cabin again remained strong. Perhaps the youngest Fyne sister had still not forgiven her elder sisters for interfering where they should not, and perhaps she never would. But she was not in danger. No, Sophie was not the reason for this wave of anxiety that disturbed the night.
Juliet threw back the covers, lit the candle at her bedside, and walked to the window. On this cloudless night, a softly shining half-moon added a touch of light to the land surrounding her mountainside home. She lifted the lace curtain to peer outside. Her fingers brushed against the icy glass, and her toes quickly grew cold. Months had passed since Sophie’s departure. It had been warm when Sophie and her rebel had ridden away in search of their daughter. Now the leaves on the trees beyond the barn had turned to vibrant reds and golds, with a few bright blue leaves mixed amongst them. Some of those leaves had died and fallen to the ground. When the sun shone down, the days were comfortable enough, with just a touch of a chill in the air. But the nights were cold as winter approached, time passing normally even though Juliet was certain nothing would ever be normal again.
Her neck prickled, and she reached around to once again rub at the odd warning sign. It was downright frustrating to have a gift that could be used to help others, but was all but useless where her own life was concerned. Not that she wanted to know every detail of what the future held for her, of course, but still...when she had strange dreams she could not remember well, and that unsettling nightmare plagued her, and this odd sensation at the back of her neck disturbed her sleep, she did wish she could see a glimpse.
Of course, it was possible such a glimpse would not soothe her at all, but would only make matters worse.
Juliet’s head snapped around sharply, drawn to the autumn trees. It was too dark in the mountain forest for her to see anything at all, and yet she was almost certain that something out there moved. Something that did not belong.
A man.
Juliet let the curtain drop and flutter into place, then turned and ran on bare feet to the hallway. “Isadora!” she shouted. Outside the cabin she heard the rustle of boots in the dirt and the whisper of male voices that seemed to assault her from all sides. The footsteps and the whispers sounded in her head, not her ears, and yet they were real. Very, very real.
Isadora, rumpled with sleep and wearing a plain white nightgown, stumbled into the hallway still more asleep than awake. “What’s wrong?” she asked, a touch of annoyance in her voice. She likely suspected that a startling vision of some sort, or perhaps a frightening dream, had disturbed her gentler sister.
“Men,” Juliet said. “They’re coming.”
Isadora came instantly awake.
Juliet halted while she was still several feet away from her sister, her heart heavy with the knowledge that her understanding of the warning had come too late. “They’re here.”
The front door splintered open with a resounding crack, windows throughout the house shattered, and men dressed in green invaded the Fyne home in a thundering loud swarm. They shouted threatening words and screamed ear-splitting war cries, and carried torches that lit their way and swords that gleamed in the firelight.
There were so many of them. Five, ten...twenty. And they were dressed the same, with only a few minor variations here and there. Emerald green trousers and tunics, some plain, some with the markings of their rank or awards for services rendered to the emperor. Soldiers. The men who burst into the Fyne cabin through the front door and the windows surrounded the sisters almost instantly after breaking into the cabin.
Isadora spun and reached for the nearest soldier, surprising the man who wielded his sword in a threatening manner and gripped a dagger with a slim blade as if he were ready to make use of it. The eldest Fyne sister stretched forward sharply, her hand graceful but quick, and laid two fingers over the man’s heart.
“Ishna foreg. Ackla foresh,” Isadora whispered in a gruff voice, the deadly spell spoken in the ancient tongue of the wizards that Lucinda Fyne had taught her daughters. The soldier’s reaction was immediate. He dropped his weapons, his eyes rolled up in his head, and he sank to the floor. Dead.
Isadora wasted no time in snatching up the man’s sword. She swung it wildly, and those soldiers closest to her stepped quickly back. “Get out” she said, “before I stop the heart of every man in this room the way I stopped this pig’s small heart.”
For a moment all was still in the hallway and beyond. The soldiers were afraid of Isadora, and with good reason.
Behind her, Juliet heard the steady clip of boot heels on the floor. Soldiers stepped aside as the new arrival made his way to the hallway, but she did not turn to look. Her eyes were riveted to Isadora and the soldiers around her. Someone whispered to the man who continued to move forward, ordering him to stop before the dark witch killed every man in the room with a word.
But he did not stop. Juliet turned her head in time to see the burly man brush past the soldiers at the end of the hallway. His head was turned, the features lost in deep shadows away from the firelight cast by blazing torches.
“If the dark witch could kill us all with a word, why aren’t we dead yet?” he asked.
“I don’t care to deal with the cleaning that would come after,” Isadora answered sharply. “Take your man, be grateful there is only one dead, and go.”
The man stopped directly behind Juliet. When she made a move to join Isadora, he grabbed her upper arm and held on tight. Memories of the night Ariana had been kidnapped flashed through Juliet’s mind, so clearly it was almost as if that night were happening again now.
“I don’t believe it.” He drew a knife from the scabbard at his waist as he pulled Juliet up against his large, solid body. One swift move and the tip of the knife touched her throat. She could not so much as breathe without feeling the sharpness of the blade. “Drop the sword, or I kill her.”
“You’ll kill us anyway,” Isadora argued. She tightened her grip on the sword’s hilt, even though a momentary flash of fear in her eyes gave away her uncertainty. “I plan to take a few of you with me.”
The man who held Juliet glanced down at the dead soldier. “We’re not here to kill you, though as always I will do what I must.”
For years Isadora’s protective spell had kept men like this away from the mountain. There had been no violence here, not until the night Ariana had been kidnapped. Juliet shuddered. That tingling began at the back of her neck again. This time it ran down her spine. That gruff voice. The rough hands. She turned her head slightly, feeling the increased pressure of the blade, and looked into the face of the man who held her.
It was him—the man who had kidnapped her infant niece.
“You!”
The large, decidedly ugly man smiled. “The name’s Bors, and yes, I have been here before, as I’m sure you remember. How’s your head, Red?”
On his last visit to this cabin he had rendered her unconscious with a blow to the head. She never would’ve allowed him to take Ariana otherwise.
“Do you plan to kidnap us, too?”
“Yes. The Emperor Sebestyen requests the pleasure of your company.”
In a rage Isadora stepped forward, her sword pointed directly at the man who held Juliet. The rash move was a costly one. While her attention was on Bors, a soldier to the rear moved bravely forward and raised his sword. Juliet cried out, but it was too late. The young soldier lifted the sword high, brought it down swiftly, and slammed the heavy hilt into Isadora’s head. She crumpled to the floor beside the man she’d killed.
The soldiers who had been frightened of Isadora moments earlier were not at all afraid of the unconscious woman on the floor. Isadora didn’t look particularly frightening in her nightgown, with a dark braid falling down her back and her hands limp. One of the soldiers, a friend of the fallen man perhaps, moved forward and shifted his sword so that the sharp tip touched the back of Isadora’s neck. His intention was to kill, unlike the soldier who had hit Isadora on the head to stop her.
Bors growled and then barked. “The witch is to be delivered to the emperor alive, as ordered.”
“She has murdered an emperor’s man,” the soldier argued. After a moment, he grudgingly shifted the threatening blade to one side.
Again all was still for a moment, and then a soldier who had been standing well behind Isadora stepped forward. “There are other ways to make the women pay.” His observation was met with titters of laughter and a few nodding heads. The man who had spoken winked at Juliet and grabbed his crotch in a vile manner.
“I suppose you can do with them as you wish,” Bors said casually.
A chill ran up and down Juliet’s spine. Was this why the nightmare had returned? Had it been yet another warning deciphered too late? She had always feared joining with a man, thanks to the dream, and had shunned all thoughts of marriage for that reason. Her sisters thought her refusal to marry was her answer to the curse which promised that the women of the Fyne House would never know a true and lasting love. She had heard of too many Fyne women burying the men they loved before their time, and she had seen Isadora suffer, thanks to the curse. Isadora had buried her beloved husband before his thirtieth birthday, as many of their ancestors before them had done.
In truth there was much more to Juliet’s decision to remain chaste.
Pain, and blood, and the inability to move...
Some of the men were smiling, but not all were amused or pleased by the crude soldier’s suggestion. Perhaps the soldiers who had invaded the cabin weren’t all evil. Juliet sensed that some were doing what they considered to be their duty by serving the emperor, while only a few truly enjoyed hurting people.
Juliet attempted to pull forward as the young soldier who had suggested making the women pay made a move toward Isadora, who still lay unconscious on the floor.
“However...” Bors began. Again, he commanded the soldiers’ full attention as he yanked Juliet back into place. “I wouldn’t touch that one.” He nodded toward Isadora. “She killed Hynd with a few words, and from what I hear of her, it might not be wise to touch her. The villagers at the foot of the mountain are all afraid of that one.”
The soldier gave Bors’s words serious consideration. “What about the redhead? She hasn’t hurt anyone. She seems right meek, in fact. I don’t think she’d put up much of a fight. Not for long, in any case.”
Bors shrugged, as if he didn’t care.
Juliet lifted her chin and gathered every ounce of strength she had locked inside her. “I assume the emperor asked for us because he has some use for the powers we possess.”
“I assume,” Bors answered. “He does not confide in me, you understand. I was hired for this job because I’ve been here before and this cabin is unusually hard to find.”
“I doubt the emperor would send you so far to fetch two women who could not help him in some way. The journey from Arthes to Fyne Mountain is a long and not entirely easy one.”
“True enough.”
Juliet didn’t lie. Normally. But the idea of these men touching her caused a fear well beyond any she had ever known. “If a man abuses me, I will lose my gift of sight.” It was a common notion that seers had to remain virginal, and the notion might even be true in some cases. It might even be true in her own case, but she did not think so. Her grandmother, the first Ariana Fyne, had had the gift of sight herself, and her psychic ability had survived not only years of an unhappy but true marriage with a man she had never loved, but the birth of Lucinda Fyne, her only daughter.
With the touch of a hand and a bit of concentration, Juliet could see into a person’s mind, into their future, into their past. Even now, with all that was happening around her, she could see into the mind of her captor. Bors was a greedy man, but did not see himself as such. He thought himself ambitious, clever, and powerful. His death would be ugly and painful and it would come soon, but it would not come today. He loved his wife and his children, in his own selfish way, but did not treat them well. He thought love a weakness, and so he denied it.
He had been kind to Ariana on the long trip to Arthes, protecting the baby from the carelessness of Galvyn Farrell, but his kindness had been motivated by greed. He’d realized that a dead child would be worth nothing.
In a sharp flash that momentarily wiped away the night’s reality, Juliet knew that Galvyn Farrell, the man who had orchestrated Ariana’s kidnapping in a failed attempt to force Sophie to become his wife, was dead.
At times the psychic events Juliet had experienced all her life were gentle, but often they were so intense they almost blinded her. She could control the ability to an extent by the lifting of her hand away from the subject of the premonition, or by forcing her mind elsewhere. If she did not touch, she often could not feel. There were times when breaking the connection was not enough to end the event. Often the images and sensations continued for a while.
If such a gentle touch triggered visions and premonitions that caused her head to pound and wiped out all reality, what would happen if a man were actually inside her? If she were literally joined with a man, would she be bombarded with images and sensations? In her nightmare, the pain was so great it literally blinded her. The pain she experienced in the dream was not the simple discomfort of a virgin’s first encounter, but a shattering agony that threatened to tear her in two. What if the pain didn’t stop? Ever?
Isadora groaned and lifted her head.
“Bind her,” Bors said quickly, nodding to the soldiers nearest Isadora. They hesitated, but not for long. “Tightly,” he instructed.
The soldiers hauled Isadora to her feet and quickly tied her hands with a rough length of rope. She did not look fearsome, in her white nightgown and bare feet and that girlish braid. But her eyes were dark and dangerous. There was hate in those eyes. Pure, hot hate.
She was going to fight, and if she did, she would die here. Juliet locked her eyes to her sister’s. “Don’t,” she whispered. “It’s time.”
Isadora had never accepted the fact that some things in life were inescapable. “Time for what?”
“It’s time for us to leave this place.”
The eldest Fyne sister did not embrace such truths easily. She never had.
“If you fight, we will die,” Juliet said quickly. “And Sophie still needs us.”
The mention of her youngest sister’s name made Isadora go still.
Bors shifted his knife away from Juliet’s throat. The small cut stung and Juliet suspected there was a spot of blood there.
“You will, of course, allow us to dress appropriately and pack a small bag of our belongings,” she said. There were things she wanted to take with her when she left this place. She could smell the smoke, as if the fire that was to come had already been lit. Best not to tell Isadora just yet that the soldiers planned to burn the cabin and everything in it.
“You have five minutes.” Bors gave Juliet a little shove that sent her toward her sister. ’‘Only because you talked some sense into your sister and saved me from explaining to the emperor how two women took out a number of his soldiers.” He glanced at the man on the hallway floor. “One I can justify. More might cost me my head.”
“Untie her hands,” Juliet said, nodding to her sister.
Bors narrowed one eye. “I doubt that’s wise.”
“I cannot dress her and myself in five minutes if her hands are bound behind her back, and if she travels in her nightshift, she’ll freeze. You did say the emperor would prefer to have us alive, did you not?”
Bors nodded his head, and a wary soldier released Isadora’s hands.
Juliet did not waste time, but grabbed Isadora’s arm and dragged her into the closest bedroom. Cold air rushed through the broken window of Isadora’s bedchamber, making the plain curtains there dance gently. Juliet tried to close the bedroom door, but a soldier caught it and shook his head slowly. They would not remain unguarded.
Isadora spoke in the language their mother had taught them, a precious and sacred language the soldiers would not understand.
“I can kill them.”
"Not tonight." Juliet threw open Isadora’s wardrobe and grabbed a black dress made of a soft, warm fabric. She tossed the frock to her sister, grabbed a pair of boots, and headed for the door. “Come.”
They brushed past the soldier in the doorway, who took great care not to touch Isadora, and past the other young men who had gathered in the hall. Each and every one stepped out of the way, eyeing Isadora with a mixture of hate and suspicion. She had killed one of their own with a touch and a few words they did not understand, and the idea of escorting her to the palace untouched and unpunished didn’t sit well with them.
But they did not wish to risk touching her themselves.
The sisters ran into the room where Juliet had, just minutes earlier, been trying desperately to get to sleep. The window where she’d stood and looked out on the cold landscape was broken. Cold air rushed in, and the lace curtains fluttered. She went directly to the wardrobe and threw open the doors.
Warmth was her first priority, comfort the second. She laid her hands on a dark green gown with a full skirt and slightly puffed long sleeves and pulled it from the wardrobe. Everything else would be left behind.
They pulled the frocks on over their nightshifts, since the soldier who had been ordered to guard them once again stood in the doorway and watched insolently. Sitting on the side of the unmade bed, they pulled on thick socks and their boots. Isadora’s tall boots were black, as was almost everything she’d worn since her husband’s death, and Juliet’s were a warm brown. As with the dresses, the footwear had been chosen with comfort and warmth in mind. They did not don their best and prettiest shoes, but instead chose sturdy walking boots.
The minutes ticked past, and Juliet didn’t expect Bors was the type of man to give them more time if they needed it. What does one take when leaving home for the last time? There were so many things she had expected to have around her forever. Dresses and shoes and furnishings could be replaced, in time. But what about Mother’s good dishes, the silver, those few pieces of nice jewelry, the painting over the mantel in the parlor...her herbs.
Gown on and half-fastened, boots on but untied, Juliet collected her small valise and then grabbed Isadora’s hand once again and raced for the kitchen. Again, the soldiers gave them a wide berth. It would be tempting simply to run, but more than one soldier rested a ready hand over a sword or a dagger, and they were all more than willing to make use of those weapons if given the opportunity.
“What are you doing?” Isadora asked. She sat at a kitchen chair and tied her boot strings while Juliet ran to the shelf of herbs and scraped everything she could into her valise. “Do you expect to need all those medications on the trip? Surely you’re not going to doctor the paivanti soldiers.”
“Don’t curse,” Juliet said almost absently. She wasn’t yet ready to tell her sister that the soldiers planned to burn their home. Heaven above, she could already smell the smoke, the acrid burning of their furniture and clothes and even the soldier’s body that would be left in the hallway. “You never know what we might need.”
“Warm cloaks, I imagine,” Bors said as he walked into the kitchen, brushing past the guard who remained close to Isadora—but not too close. “The nights will only grow colder as we travel to Arthes.”
Isadora stood sharply. The guard and Bors both took a step back as she said, “I’ll collect our cloaks.”
Juliet stared at her sister. “Promise me you won’t do anything rash.”
Isadora hesitated. She wanted to fight. She would prefer to die fighting than to go peacefully with the soldiers. It was only the threat to her sister and the knowledge that Sophie still needed them that kept her in control. “Fine,” she snapped. “I promise.”
Perhaps half a minute after Isadora left the room, Bors said, “Time’s up.”
Juliet closed her valise and snapped it shut. Soldiers began to pour toward the front door. Light from their torches flickered wildly on walls Juliet knew she would never see again; a cold breeze wafted through the broken kitchen window. Isadora, closely guarded but untouched, emerged from the hallway with her own black cloak and Juliet’s good gray cape draped over her arm.
“Time to go,” Juliet said as she took the cape from Isadora. When her sister realized what the soldiers planned, she was sure to fight. And die.
The sisters donned their cloaks and stepped into the night surrounded on all sides by soldiers. Juliet held the valise in her left hand, and she fisted her right hand tightly. Isadora stayed close by her side as they walked away from the cabin. Men bearing torches remained behind. She didn’t have much time.
Juliet stopped. Isadora stopped, too, and turned to face her sister.
“I’m sorry,” Juliet whispered.
“Sorry for—”
Isadora didn’t have the chance to finish her sentence. Juliet lifted her right hand and tossed the fine powder into Isadora’s face. The effect was immediate. Isadora was silently outraged for a spilt second, and then she collapsed. Juliet did her best to break her sister’s fall, catching the unconscious woman and easing her to the ground.
The first torch was thrown onto the roof of the Fyne cabin. And then another. A cretin of a soldier tossed his blazing torch through the parlor window, and watched with a smile on his face as the flames caught and spread.
“What did you do to her?” Bors asked indifferently as he nodded to an unconscious Isadora.
“I saved her life,” Juliet whispered.
Bors was greedy and without scruples, but he was not stupid. He understood what had happened. Juliet wondered if her sister ever would.
After a moment of silence Bors said, in a matter-of-fact voice that was as chilling as the wind, “Use that powder or anything like it on my soldiers, and I’ll gladly give them permission to do with you as they wish before they kill you.”