14. Isabel

Chapter 14

Isabel

T wo days had passed since my performance before the pyres. No one dared defy me after that—certainly not the Council following my other demonstration with Sheriff Wilfred. The man had been loyal to the royal family for decades, but that meant he would never accept my rule after I killed the King and Prince.

Killing him served many purposes. Setting an example for the other simpering lords was chief among them, though I knew there was a faction still plotting against me.

“Let my Children deal with our enemies. They can be quite effective when given direction,” Irina hissed in my mind.

I shivered at the menacing voice that echoed through my consciousness. When Irina had first spoken in my mind after the ceremony, I thought I might be coming unhinged, that my new magic had loosened my grip on reality somehow. I could feel the spirit’s voice as it spoke, a thick syrup oozing through my chest.

The sensation was even more unsettling as Irina’s magic thrummed in dissonance with my own. I maintained control, for now—but how long would that last? With each passing day, Irina exerted slightly more control, imposing her ancient will over my thoughts and actions. Pinpricks traveled up my arms at the thought of the long-dead queen consuming my soul entirely.

Can she do that?

Aside from my growing unease over my guest, two tasks consumed my mind.

First, I had to secure the throne. As long as Jess roamed free, my time and influence as Regent was limited. Some of the lords might even move to give Jess full power, eliminating the regency altogether. I could not allow that.

Once Jess was out of the way, Kendall would ascend the throne. No one, not even my enemies, would think a child of his tender age capable of ruling. I loved my son—at least that’s what I told myself. He was a sweet, gentle boy, but he was damaged, the runt of the litter. He would never amount to anything physically, and his dull wit made me cringe. If he wore the crown, the Kingdom would become as weak as its broken ruler. That would never do. However, putting him on the throne allowed me six, maybe seven, years as Regent, plenty of time to figure out how to claim the throne for myself.

Thoughts of Kendall and Jess made my mind turn to Justin.

My heart cringed as his eyes and easy smile appeared in my mind. He would’ve made a good king. Justin was like Kendall, a gentle spirit, but with added layers of brilliance, confidence, and physical strength his younger brother lacked. His training with the Protectorate showed in his broadening shoulders and growing chest and arms. He wasn’t stunning like Alfred had been in his youth, but he was handsome, and his Gift— Spirits , magic’s Charisma flowed from him in waves—made it virtually impossible not to like the boy.

I loved him more than anything, even more than my own ambition.

Until I killed him for it.

I found myself standing at the door to Justin’s room. I turned the knob and walked inside. No one had been in here since he died.

Neatly folded breeches and shirts lay in short stacks on the dresser. Two elegant doublets hung beside a riding coat in the armoire, its doors left carelessly open. Two pairs of boots and a set of formal shoes lay perfectly in a row like little polished soldiers awaiting inspection. I drew a deep breath to steady myself, and the faint hint of Justin’s scent found its way to me. My icy composure shattered as my mother’s heart finally acknowledged the price I had paid for power.

My baby boy.

I fell onto the bed and wept, a woman exposed and adrift.

A mother without her child.

I closed my eyes and saw Justin’s face before me again, smiling lovingly. My hand reached out, and I felt a wisp of hair as I pushed it from his forehead. I cupped his cheek, and he leaned into the gentle caress. Love and pain rolled through me, twin storms warring in an enraged sky.

“Enough!” Irina’s barbed voice scraped across my wounded heart, ruining my intimate moment. “You are Queen, not some simpering dog!”

Justin’s image vanished.

I jolted upright, startled by the intense rebuke I felt in my core. Chastised, I wiped the tears from my face.

Focus. Focus only on what matters. Only on what needs to be done. Secure the throne. Find Jess. That’s first.

I had sent search parties in every direction, but none had returned with even a sighting. How hard could it be to find a girl, an old man, and an oafishly tall Melucian? Frustrated with the Royal Guard’s lack of progress, I had given command of the search over to Danai. He had always been highly effective, but dealing with Jess might need my personal oversight. I would have to correct that.

My second quandary was how to get my army through the mountain pass in winter. Irina’s voice thrummed with confidence, insisting that it could be done, but my advisors were emphatic that the snows would be too deep, the cold too harsh. General Marks believed winter would last five or six months. I could not stomach the thought of sitting in this inn, reminded of everyone who had once surrounded me, for that long. The bland food alone might drive me mad.

There had to be a way.

I received a host of new magical Gifts when the final sacrifice was completed. There had not been a moment to consider them, much less learn the extent of their power. I decided it was time to take inventory of my new arsenal.

My innate Gifts were Fire and Clairvoyance.

Hmm, Fire. I could certainly melt the snow and make it warm for men to pass, but how far could that extend? The pass winds through too many mountains and valleys. There is no way I can extend my power that far.

“And you would create rivers of mud that would snare men and siege equipment. That will not work. Move on,” Irina snapped, her voice jarring.

I shook off the feeling of being watched and turned to the Gifts I received through the sacrifices. With each offering, the Gift of each sacrificed spirit flowed into a diamond on my crown. The headpiece was Enchanted so the wearer could wield all seven captured Gifts, in addition to their own. That gave me access to nine Gifts.

Nine! I have nine powers!

I knew the ritual would grant new abilities, but I had not fully appreciated how many that would entail. A broad smile crept across my face until Irina’s voice scraped against my mind again.

“I had ten. Stop gloating and get on with it.”

I was beginning to despise my patron spirit.

I sucked in a breath, then ticked through the list.

Enhanced Strength was the first new ability I actually used to toss the Royal Guard out of the way at the inn. Between the bulk of the men and their armor, I manhandled hundreds of pounds of muscle and steel like it was nothing.

I had used Enchanted items many times—the charms that allowed me to Travel were my favorite—but I hadn’t tried using my new Enchanting ability. I could now create Enchantments, but I did not even know the rules of that game. Could I only give an item the magical powers I possessed? Or could I do more? This could be an incredible asset to my army as they faced the Melucian Mages. I needed to ask my Mages to learn more.

Telepathy was a high-value ability. I could certainly use it to strengthen my command structure. My orders could be carried to anyone I had come in close contact with. If only it would work both ways and allow them to speak back.

Then again, I like it when my men do not talk back. I smiled at that thought.

Charisma was interesting. I had always been persuasive, helping Alfred wrangle the unruly pack of lords and advisors and their wild schemes, but having a magical boost for my efforts to influence would definitely help the cause. Was this something I had to proactively cast, like a spell? Or was I simply more likable, more believable? Had I actually used Charisma when I spoke at Alfred’s funeral? That was another question on the list for my Mages.

Then there were Animal Communication, Healing, and Empathy.

“Healing is fine. The others are useless. Move on,” Irina snapped impatiently.

I ground my teeth.

How do I get an army through a mountain pass covered in many feet of snow and where blizzards are near-daily events?

This was why the legendary Phoenix had created the mountain range in the first place, defeating Irina a thousand years earlier as she tried to conquer the globe—to prevent a repeat of a full-scale invasion by either side, to keep the peace.

White-hot rage flared in my chest as Irina screamed, “That blasted beast didn’t defeat me! It just delayed my rise. Now stop daydreaming and focus.”

I was beyond annoyed with the nasty little bird that kept chirping in my mind. More unnerving, Irina apparently knew what I was thinking. Would I ever be alone again or have my thoughts to myself?

“No. You will not.”

I turned to the sideboard. It took several glasses, but wine seemed to keep Irina at bay. I stared at the ruby liquid as I swirled it in my crystal goblet. One silver lining of being stuck in an inn was that large quantities of alcohol were only a bell ring away. My guards had surely noted the increase in consumption but dared not comment on it. They dared not comment on anything.

I peered out the window and saw the Royal Guard standing erect, pikes upright. Soldiers and Protectorate scurried through the square, following one command or another, the import of which they would likely never fully understand. These were men fighting for me now.

My chest swelled with pride at all I had accomplished. The war was only the beginning, and there were many leagues to cross before reaching my goal, but we were crossing those leagues. Spirits knew that was a lot more than my husband had ever done as King. I took a sip and savored the hint of cherry for a few blissfully silent moments.

Irina stirred.

“Those aren’t men. They’re tools. Useful, perhaps, for the moment,” she said, contempt dripping with each word.

I couldn’t take it anymore. “What do you know? You would still be dead or trapped in that stupid Orb if it weren’t for me!”

I gripped my chest as a reprimand of white-hot rage seared through me.

Irina swelled within my mind and seized control. “I waited a thousand years for this moment. You have no idea the magic I wield. Without me, you are nothing, not even Queen. You, little mouse, will serve me or cower in fear as I bend you to my will. I care not which.”

I staggered.

The wine fell from my quivering hand. Glass shattered and bled scarlet over the freshly cleaned floor. I edged to the corner of the bed and sat.

“Why are you such a bitch?” I asked as I stared at my still-shaking hands.

“If it helps you understand—and better serve me—watch.”

My mind went blank, and my body fell limp on the bed.

A small girl with inky black hair circles her mother and father in the yard as they rake leaves. Her smile is broad, her laugh carefree. Her mother’s eyes smile as broadly as her mouth while her father tosses a rake full of leaves in her path. The leafy wall explodes in a flurry of splayed fingers and arms and giggles as she bursts through and into her mother’s waiting arms.

Both of her parents wear the blue smock of one trained to heal, but neither was adorned with a golden collar or cuff. They are good-hearted, well-intentioned, but abandoned by magic’s touch.

The image shifted.

The girl is now a few years older.

Two men and one woman, each robed in rich, velvety blue trimmed in thick bands of gold, encircle her. She cowers on her wooden kitchen chair, feet tucked to her bum, arms wrapped protectively around her knees. Her parents sit outside the circle, barred for entry into the Mages’ domain. They try smiling, offering her their strength, but fear and concern permeate their features. Her mother clutches her father’s hand for comfort.

“You have power, girl. Power to be more than you could ever dream,” one of the men says.

“Join us. Let us teach you. Become like the Phoenix and rise with us,” the woman behind her urges passionately, leaning to whisper in her ear. As she speaks, a shimmering blue-white image of the Phoenix of Magic streaks above the girl’s head. It circles the room, then explodes in a dazzling display of twinkling stars and luminescent smoke.

The girl winces. Her eyes pinch tight as she buries her head in her arms.

“I want to be a Healer, but I don’t want to leave,” she pleads, then looks to her mother and cries, “Don’t make me go with them, Mama! Please, don’t make me go!”

The woman presses, her voice now syrupy smooth. “Child, you can learn to Heal—and so much more. There are only ten of us with magic in all the world. Think of that. You would be one of only eleven Mages, and we can do wondrous things. If you stay here, you may learn to Heal, but you’ll never understand the many Gifts you’ll be abandoning. You’ll leave so much good undone. So many people not helped in ways you cannot yet imagine.”

Tears trickle down the girl’s face, but she glares up at the woman, defiance set across her jaw. “I will never go with you. I will never be one of you! Just go away!”

The room shimmers with faint light that radiates from the indignant girl, and the Mages exchange surprised expressions. Her mother gasps and covers her mouth with her unoccupied hand, eyes wide.

The tallest of the men speaks for the first and only time. “When you see us again, you will choose. Choose poorly, and you will learn the power of regret instead of magic.”

He whispers over his shoulder to her parents as the Mages file out of the house. “Think on this before it’s too late.”

Another shift.

A teenage girl, raven braids traveling down her back, now dons a crisp blue smock of her own. She walks out to greet a new patient. The old man is pale and unstable, his distended belly rumbling as her arm wraps around his waist. She braces him, squeezing herself under his arm, guiding him with her words as much as her limbs. As they hobble inside, the girl’s mother, hair showing its first streaks of age, races to assist. She gives the girl a knowing smile as the man stretches out on their exam table.

When her mother steps back and her father doesn’t move to assist, she looks questioningly to each of them. Her mother whispers, “Go on, dear. This man needs healing.”

Her father nods approvingly from a chair in the corner. His eyes are intent and glistening.

And another shift.

The girl now stands a head taller, her twenty-something body athletic and strong, forged through years of hauling patients, medicines, and supplies throughout the city. Her Healer’s Blues remain humble, marred by the inevitable stains of her profession. Aside from the grace of her bearing and warmth of her smile, her only elegance is the golden collar adorning her neck.

As she walks from shop to shop, men and women approach her, nodding or bowing in greeting and respect. She pauses to exchange words, and they beam at her acknowledgement. She never sought fame or glory, but she is now the most famous and respected Healer in the city, perhaps in all the Kingdom.

As she leaves the merchant district heading home, a tall man in long blue robes scowls from his seat near the window of a café.

The Mages fear little.

But her fame, the love of the people—that they fear.

The image transforms.

The Healer watches as three Mages glide up the path toward her modest home’s door. She stands on the porch, her aged father asleep in the rocking chair by her side. Her mother’s gentle humming can be heard from the kitchen as she kneads dough, and the delicious smell of baking mingles with crisp autumn air.

The tall Mage stops at the bottom step. Without preamble, he says, “It is time. Will you join us?”

The girl, now a young woman, crosses her arms and squares her shoulders. Her stance widens as if to block the entrance to her home. Her eyes show only the slightest hint of surprise at the man’s sudden appearance, but her jaw sets firmly in defiance. “I belong here, with these people, Healing their sick and lame. I don’t need your so-called Gifts.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” the Mage says. “But you need our instruction. Today, you will learn the price for refusing our aid. I hope this will be the only time you need this particular education.”

Before she can think or speak or move, the Mage raises a brow, and her father wails in sudden pain. Her head snaps around, and she watches in horror as he clutches his chest, his eyes wide. She throws herself at his feet, and a waterfall of Healing magic explodes from both palms. Panic and terror rise in her throat as her magic hits an unseen barrier and evaporates into nothing. She tries again, and again, and again, desperately pouring her Light into her father’s failing heart, but it’s too late.

Her father’s heart is still.

She screams in agony, a harsh, primal sob, and grips her father’s lifeless hand. From inside the house, she hears sounds of a desperate struggle. The Mages are inside her house—with her mother!

She shoots to her feet and races inside, where one of the robed men blocks her path, careful to ensure she has a clear view of the unfolding horror within. Her eyes lock with her mother’s as a spear of ravenous liquid fire shoots from the tall Mage’s palm and engulfs his victim.

“Irina!” the mother calls before her voice is silenced by the flames. Her bloodcurdling cry that echoes through the home shatters what remains of Irina’s spirit.

My eyes became my own again.

My heart pounded and sweat soaked through my gown. No vision had ever felt so real. It had been as if I stood watching and feeling everything the girl felt in each dream. I was immersed in the girl’s agony and anger. My heart ached for the pain the Mages had inflicted, but horror filled my mind at what Irina became in the years that followed.

“Now, do you see?” Irina growled.

“Those Mages are long dead. Your vengeance is dead. They slew your parents, but killing everyone left alive will not bring them back. I will have no one left to rule if you walk this path!”

“The Mages are not all dead. Your pathetic people protect those who remain. I did not show you what the Mages did next. They did not stop with my parents. They killed everyone I ever cared for. They used magic of every form to block my Healing, to maim or kill those I restored. I could go nowhere without them following, undoing my every deed. The people I loved—who loved me—came to fear me. They were afraid of the terror that followed in my wake, no matter the good I might have done. The Mages took everything from me, and now I will return the favor.

“I will see you all burn!”

I clutched the pendant that pressed against my chest. “You are insane . I want to unite the continent, kill only those who oppose my reign. I do not apologize for ambition, but I will not help you kill innocents. I will find a way to lock you back in that Orb or one like it. You will never see the world of life again!”

“Oh, little mouse, you already played your part. I have your body, your memories, even your powers. I do not need you anymore.”

A jolt slammed into my chest. Froth dribbled from the corners of my mouth as my body seized. I gripped my throat, desperate to draw breath. My chest convulsed, then my limbs numbed with sudden paralysis. I tried to stand, to scream for help, but nothing obeyed my command. In seconds, my eyes betrayed me, and the world turned black.

My spirit rose above my flesh. I saw myself, my lifeless form, still atop the bed. I had not known a spirit felt loss or pain, yet in that moment, regret found its way to the fore.

My ethereal eyes widened as my physical body stirred.

Its eyes snapped open, and brilliant red plumes swirled where once they shone white. Its mouth curled in a wide grin as it stood and cracked a tight neck.

It stared down at its hands, flexing its fingers, testing their strength.

And then it looked directly at me and spoke.

“Thank you, Isabel. Your sacrifice will be remembered.”