Instinctively, desperately, she turned inward, reaching for the depth of her Opal strength. She couldn’t even reach the depth of the White. She was sealed off from the abyss, and her mind felt as if it had been encased in stone.

“You still have basic Craft,” Saetan said quietly.

Alexandra stared at him in horror. “Basic Craft?”

“Yes.”

She continued to stare as she remembered that crushing flood of power and the fleeting moment of pain. “She broke me,” Alexandra whispered. “That bitch broke me.”

“Take care what you say about my Queen,” Saetan snarled.

“What are you going to do?” she snapped. “Rip my tongue out?”

He didn’t have to answer. She saw it in his eyes.

“Drink this,” he said too quietly as he handed her the mug.

Not daring to do otherwise, she drank the brew and handed the mug back to him.

“I’m not even a witch anymore,” she said as tears filled her eyes.

“A witch is still a witch, even if she’s broken and can no longer wear the Jewels. A Queen is still a Queen.”

Alexandra laughed bitterly. “Oh, that’s so easy to say, isn’t it? What kind of Queen can I be? Do you really think I can hold a court around me?”

“Other Queens have. Psychic strength is only one factor that attracts strong males and entices them to serve. You don’t need that kind of strength if you have the use of theirs.”

“And do you think I can hold on to a strong-enough court to remain the Queen of Chaillot?”

“No,” Saetan replied quietly after a long pause. “But that has nothing to do with your ability to wear Jewels.”

She choked on the insult, not daring to do anything else. “Do you realize what’s going to happen to Chaillot now?”

“Your people will, in all probability, choose another Queen.”

“There isn’t another Queen strong enough to be accepted as the Territory Queen. That’s why—” —I still rule. No, she couldn’t say that to him.

She pushed herself into a sitting position, then waited for her head to clear. That odd, muffled feeling would go away eventually, but the sense of loss never would. The bitch who had masqueraded as her granddaughter had done this to her. “She’s monstrous,” she muttered.

“She is the living myth, dreams made flesh,” Saetan said coldly.

“Well, she wasn’t my dream,” Alexandra snapped. “How that repulsive, distorted creature could be anyone’s dream—”

“Don’t cross that line again, Alexandra,” Saetan warned.

Hearing the edge in his voice, she hunched to make herself smaller. She could grit her teeth and hold her tongue because she had no choice, but she couldn’t stop thinking about that creature. It had lived in her house. She shuddered. Every year at Winsol, we dance for the glory of Witch. Every year, we celebrate that.