When Elena found the wolves outside of the door she had been drawn to, almost like a human magnet, she was certain she’d found Romanov. The hum of power beneath her skin made her heart flutter and her skin tingle almost as bad as it had when she’d been “electrocuted” by the Dark Volkhvy woman, but it seemed as if her body was adjusting to Volkhvy power. Either that or the sapphire channeled it in a way that her mortal form could withstand.
The white wolf snapped out of his nearly frozen stance. He’d been staring straight ahead. When she stepped closer, he became limber once more. He dropped his head. He planted his front paws. He growled. The sound skittered along her spine. It was a clear warning. Soren whined. But he didn’t leave his post on the opposite side of the door.
“Romanov is in there, isn’t he? I’m going in. If I have to go through you, Lev, so be it,” Elena said.
The sword slid easily out of the hilt she’d found. There was barely a scrape of its blade against leather and then a slight vibration along the shaft like a soft metallic song.
She hadn’t been training long, but she’d been training all her life. One dance wasn’t so very unlike another. Her body easily assumed the stance she’d been taught. And it wasn’t a defensive one. She moved forward. Soren whined again. This time his concerned sound was paired with movement. It was the red wolf, not the white wolf, that stepped to block her way in front of the door.
Elena paused. Without thinking, she switched the placement of her feet and her arms to a defensive stance. She wouldn’t attack Soren. Not unless she absolutely had no other choice. The red wolf’s eyes were still intelligent. They sparkled like warm copper pennies as their gazes connected. He had saved her from Lev when she’d disturbed the baby’s room. How could she hurt him now?
“Where is your sword, Soren? Where is the warrior that would fight by your side?” she asked softly. The red wolf only blinked at her. His brown eyes were intelligent but enigmatic.
This time it was Lev who whined. Elena looked at the white wolf. His tail had fallen and he’d tucked it between his legs. His knees had loosened and he’d dropped his belly to the floor. Did he understand her question or had something else scared him?
Her answer came from behind the wolves. The large oaken door opened inward. The overwhelming scent of candles wafted out along with the stronger scent of roses. She’d bathed in rose water, but this scent was more lush and wild. It didn’t come from her skin.
“Welcome to Bronwal, dearling. I’m afraid you’ll have to come inside to meet me. I’m only allowed in the Audience Chamber before the Gathering,” a woman’s voice echoed in singsong tones from the candlelit room beyond the door. There was an odd jewel-tone quality to the light that Elena didn’t understand until she stepped forward. The wolves parted, one on each side. Soren’s hackles had gone high. Lev’s belly was now on the ground. He didn’t growl when she passed. Before she crossed the threshold, she saw a glimpse of stained-glass windows that explained the quality of the light.
“Elena, no. Walk away. The Audience will be over soon. She’ll be drawn back to where she came from until the Gathering,” Romanov said.
But Elena wouldn’t leave him alone in the room with that threatening voice.
She came forward with her sword still drawn. The hum of power beneath her skin was nearly unbearable. She bore it. She clamped her teeth against the vibration and the pain it caused in her knee.
She didn’t expect to see a petite Victorian lady in the middle of the room near a mirror. The mirror’s glass swirled like a whirlpool of silvery liquid. The swirl reflected the stained glass causing a kaleidoscope effect on the vaulted ceiling above them.
She knew the identity of the woman she faced before anyone spoke another word. The reaction of the wolves and Romanov’s desperate tone gave her clues, as did his use of the term “audience.” Only the queen who had made him could require Ivan Romanov to attend her.
Vasilisa wore the colors of twilight paired with the color of the sun.
There was more purple than gold in her dress, as if the gold was fading away.
“Oh, this is such a surprise,” the Light Volkhvy queen said. She was between Romanov and the mirror. She had obviously been walking around the big warrior who stood almost at attention. He hadn’t rushed toward the door to try to stop Elena from entering. She was fairly certain his verbal warning had been a superhuman effort on his part. This audience was an enchanted one. He had no choice but to be here and be teased and tormented by the queen who had cursed his family.
Elena’s hand tightened on the sword. The sapphire nearly burned her hand with its power. But its power had come from Vasilisa. She was almost certain she wouldn’t be able to use the Romanov blade against the queen who had made it.
“Where did you come from, dearling?” Vasilisa asked. “I’m impressed that you’ve woken the blade after so long. The last woman to wield it was a great favorite of mine. She killed many Dark Volkhvy to defend the Light.”
“I’ve come from Saint Petersburg,” Elena answered. The information came too easily to her tongue. She looked from the violet-clad witch to Romanov. His hands were clenched, but he hadn’t turned to face her. Was he compelled to stand there at the queen’s pleasure as she’d been compelled to answer the queen’s question?
“Don’t look surprised. He is mine. And now that you’ve claimed the Romanov blade, you are mine, as well,” Vasilisa said. She came closer to Elena but she stopped well before they came face-to-face. Elena looked down at the floor. The queen had stopped inside the circle of light radiating from the mirror’s swirling face.
Vasilisa was tied to the mirror.
“No. I’m not going to marry her. I’m going to send her away,” Romanov said.
Vasilisa turned to stare at Ivan Romanov. He was vulnerable standing there unable to move, but he was also impressive. Because even frozen in place by the Light Volkhvy’s power, he was still taking a stand.
“My enchantments aren’t affected by silly mortal ceremonies. The blade has called her and she has claimed it. All that’s left is for you to claim her. I suspect that’s already occurred, whether you’ll admit it or not,” she said.
Elena’s face burned.
The queen turned back to her and laughed as if she’d sensed her emotion.
“My enchantments also aren’t affected by carnal actions. Can you imagine how complicated that would have been with Vladimir Romanov claiming every skirt that walked by? I’m talking about connection and emotion. Mortals might say heart and soul. What say you, Ivan Romanov? Does this warrior claim your soul?” Vasilisa said.
“I stand alone,” Romanov replied. Too easily for it to be a lie.
Elena didn’t drop the sword. She couldn’t. Her hand went cold as the constant vibration of power she’d experienced since she’d picked up the blade disappeared. The sapphire flickered as if it tried to fight Romanov’s decision, but then its glow faded away.
“And now I can see another claim on this woman,” Vasilisa said. Her arms had fallen at her side and her figure moved backward toward the mirror without any obvious steps. The silvery whirlpool left the frame to reach out toward the approaching queen. “She is claimed by the witchblood prince. His mark is upon her. It rides her shoulders like a shadow she can’t escape. The sapphire’s power hid her for a while, but now she’s exposed.” The liquid mirror began to engulf the queen’s face and figure. It flowed around her. It ran into her eyes and nose and mouth. Elena couldn’t breathe as she watched in horror. “Only the black wolf can stop Grigori. And the black wolf doesn’t dare to show itself at the Gathering. I couldn’t protect it from all the Dark and Light that will come to the ball, even if I cared to try.”
Her last words were gurgled rather than expressed. Elena gagged as the queen disappeared into the glass. Her body had been completely absorbed.
“It’s only a portal. She’s fine. I doubt if she even breathes air. It’s probably vengeance that pumps through her lungs,” Romanov said. The tension in his broad back had eased. He turned to her and she saw that his green eyes were his own. His rejection hadn’t been a trick of the queen.
She forced her numbed fingers to let go of the sword. It fell with a ringing clank on the flagstones of the floor. Elena looked up at the saints in the windows. They were vivid in their pain, each martyred for one cause or another. Ivan Romanov belonged up there with them. Memorialized in stained glass.
“I told you I wouldn’t bind you to the Ether,” he said.
“Instead, you would allow Grigori to find me,” she said.
“He has to come to the Gathering in order for me to kill him,” Romanov said.
“I should be the one to defeat him with the Romanov blade. He is my monster. My nightmare. You can’t kill him with your bare hands as you kill the lesser witches,” Elena said.
“I will do whatever I have to do to stop him,” Romanov said.
“You heard the queen. The black wolf can’t take on a whole Gathering alone. They’ve been baiting you all along. That’s why they come Cycle after Cycle. Each one hopes to be the one who can deliver the last Romanov’s head to the Light Volkhvy queen or the Dark Volkhvy king. She created you, and now she will stand back and allow you to be killed if you shift during the Gathering to protect me,” Elena said.
“I will do whatever I have to do to stop him,” he repeated.
She was left alone in the chapel when he walked away.
“Except give me your heart,” she said. The stained-glass saints died as martyrs all around her and they gave her no reply.