The Dragon Kings' Forbidden Witch

”Failing,” said Thorne.

”It was never meant to be permanent. It was meant to hold until she was strong enough.” Astraea turned her head slightly, so that they saw her profile. ”But since she came into this palace, since her magic began to wake, in Kaelen’s chambers, in Thorne’s....” Kaelen’s jaw clenched, ”.....in the fever, in the cold pool, on the ridge today, it has been cracking.”

”Cracking,” Draeven repeated.

”Like ice in spring. A little at a time, and then all at once.” She looked at the fire. ”When it falls, every being that hunts her will feel her. Not as a rumor or a guess. As a beacon. A lamp lit on a hill at night.”

No one spoke.

”This is why Carrick moves now,” she said. ”This is why the council has begun to split. This is why the dragons beneath your palace told you that you did not have much time. They did not mean your curse.” Her eyes were bright and sad. ”They meant her.”

”How long?” said Draeven.

”I do not know.”

”Days?”

”Perhaps. Perhaps weeks. Perhaps less.” She shook her head. ”It depends on her. On how fast her power rises. On how much of it she has already given to you without knowing.”

Kaelen flinched.

”I did not know,” he said, very low.

”No. Nor did she.” Astraea’s voice gentled. ”That is the cruelty of it.”

She turned to face them fully for the last time. In the firelight her eyes looked very old and very young, and they rested on each king in turn.

”She is already becoming visible,” said Astraea.

Then she walked to the door.

Nobody stopped her. The servant who had waited in the corridor pressed himself against the wall as she passed, and then she was gone. The white of her gown flickered once at the end of the passage and was swallowed by the dark.

The three kings sat without moving.

The fire burned lower. Outside the tall windows, the sky had gone from gold to amber to the deep blue of evening, and the first stars were pricking through. Somewhere far away a door closed.

”She is a witch,” Kaelen said at last.

”Yes.”

”A real one.”

”Yes.”

”And Morgana is....”

”Yes,” said Thorne.

Kaelen swallowed. ”She is afraid they will take her. If she says it aloud. That is what the mask was for. That is what her mother....” He stopped. ”Gods. She has been afraid of this for her whole life.”

”And we have been saying witch to her face for a week,” Thorne said dryly.

”I said it in the dark.” Kaelen replied.

”We all heard you.”

Kaelen scrubbed both hands over his face. He did not laugh. His voice came out thick. ”I thought it was a gift. To say it. I thought she would hear it as....I thought she would know it was safe.”

”She knows,” said Draeven.

They looked at him.

”She knows we are safe.” His eyes were distant. ”That is not the same as being able to say it. You cannot tell a person who has been taught to fear her own name that it is only a name. It does not work that way.”

”So what do we do?” said Kaelen.

”We wait,” said Draeven.

”For how long? Astraea says the mask is cracking. A week. A day....”

”Then we guard her. And we keep our counsel.” He rose slowly. His hand pressed against his chest. ”And tonight, at dinner, we do not ask her anything. Not one question. We feed her, and we let her laugh, and we show her the thing she does not yet believe.”

”Which is?”

”That she is allowed to be here.”

Silence passed across the room.

Thorne rose, too. His shadow stretched long across the floor in the dying firelight.

”And the ritual.”

”After,” said Draeven. ”When she is ready. Not before.”

”The council,” Kaelen said. ”The mole. If the ritual is overheard.....”

”Cedric will have the trap sprung before we need it.”

”You are very sure.”

”He is Cedric.”

Kaelen snorted. ”That is no answer.”

”It is the only one I have.” Draeven replied.

For a moment, they almost smiled.

The silence that followed was not the same as before.

Thorne was the one who broke it. He had turned from the hearth, and his voice was low.

”You never answered me.”

Draeven looked at him.

”Before the boy came in. On the ridge. Something woke.” Thorne’s eyes did not leave his brother’s face. ”I felt it in the bond, as you must have felt mine. I will not press. But I would know.”

Kaelen had gone still. He said nothing, and that was its own kind of asking.

For a long moment Draeven did not speak. The fire had burned low, and the red light moved over his face, and for the first time in a long while he looked less like the First King than the eldest of three brothers who had once shared a cradle.

”She touched my hand,” he said.

It was so small a thing. Thorne had expected something larger. Kaelen had braced for it.

”That is all,” said Draeven. ”We were sitting in the grass, and she laid her hand over mine, and I....” He stopped. His palm opened, as though it remembered. ”I have wanted her for weeks. I have wanted her the way a man wants water. And then she touched me once, and INFERNUS woke, and I understood that I had been wrong about the wanting. It is not that I wish to take her. It is that I wish to be chosen.”

Kaelen let out a slow breath.

”That,” he said roughly, ”is the first honest thing you have said all week.”

”It is not the first.”

”It is the first that cost you.”

Draeven’s mouth moved. It was nearly a smile.

”Careful, brother. I am a king.”

”You are a fool in love,” said Kaelen. ”I know the look. I have been wearing it myself.”