Not if the prophecy goes forward, Jellan thought. Not if the lovers wed, consummate their love, ally all kingdoms, learn their gifts and how to use them. If they do, he will not be banished back to this under-realm, you won’t either. He’ll be slaughtered. As will you.

“He…he would hum to me. After—” Jellan began.

She laughed an ugly laugh.

“This was considering what he’d do to you when I delivered you to him, not for any other reason, pet. Don’t get any ideas in that silly, stupid, villainous, despicable head of yours. It was not your rituals he craved. Not your seed that stirred him. It was knowing I would come to him soon, and when I did, when I found my way to this place, to him, I could bring you to him.”

So, the creature did want Jellan.

He wanted them both.

But he also wanted Jellan.

“You scheme,” she said disinterestedly.

He stiffened. “I-I don’t.”

“You do and feel free,” she allowed. “It will get you nowhere. But if hope keeps you performing to our standards…” She shrugged and let that trail.

Jellan thought for a moment before he decided to say quietly, “I honestly feel I could be of use to you. To you both.”

“Oh, but you are.”

“A different use,” he stressed.

Abruptly, she leaned toward him.

He pressed himself to the wall.

“I like your use,” she whispered, and he saw, even in the shadows, the flash of her malicious smile.

She then walked away.

And that was that.

So be it.

Once she was gone, as best he could, Jellan brushed the dirt from the joint before he gnawed on it, burrowing with his teeth to get all the meat, cracking the bones at their weak places to suck out the marrow.

He needed to keep his strength.

For she was right.

He did.

He schemed.

And he would find some way.

Some way to exact his vengeance.

Some way to be victorious.

He would make that happen.

No matter what it took.

82

The Hope

The Great Coven

Silbury Henge, Argyll Forest

AIREN

In the clearing of the forest, the first flash of light came before the first of the five standing stones.

The light was marine blue.

The witch Lena of Mar-el.

The next came and it was crimson.

The witch Nandra of Firenze.

The last was green.

Rebecca of Wodell.

And the witch who strode from the last flash did so speaking.

“I cannot be here, my queen is—”

“Rebecca,” Lena spoke softly, “We are so sorry. But we had to call to you.” She paused and finished, “Fern has been taken.”

Rebecca gasped.

“The gentry of Airen did not even know of the changes that would be made once Cassius was proclaimed regent,” Nandra said. “The moment he heard his son was to marry a Nadirii, Gallienus starting plotting. While they’ve been traveling, with great secrecy, the gentry allied their militias and created their strategy. When their spies noted the Firenz regiments camped close to Airen’s southern border, they knew all did not bode well for the continuation of their regime with the heir to their throne soon to be wed do a Nadirii. Thus, they forged ahead with the first moves of their attack.”